
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



imm 


a o o A! ; ^‘ a 


mm. 



ill ^ •iff " Ur ^ T % ' 

it A)H 

i A t I f |8Ig|®j|» 

1 83 f in A f f SS A 

m] * MA a y ’In 

■alftHaLr 

wB!rafc£C/ sS (S( fW | AE I ™ 

1 T p 

i ll At Aiau’Arr 
1 1 SK« 1 * ‘7 m ir^I fi 



iMiAlfAwAs 


BPK. 


Hi 

■MOMAi 






















I 










4 



























■'ICICI; 90 CUBITS 


O. 403. OOVBLK .MI.HItCK 


By C. R. COLERIDGE 


J 1027 VaNdeW/ter $t 
’l)i EV/Yof^y 


l’lir Seaside Library. Pocket Edition. Issued Tri -weekly. By Subscription per annum 
/righted 18b5, by George Munro — Entered at the Post OHlce at New York at second class rates— M’ch 25, 188J 








1^1 


1 

1 





r*~ 















MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— POCKET EDITION. 


VO» PRICE. 

1 Yelande. Bj William Black. 20 

2 Molly Bawn. By “ The Duchess . . . 20 

3 The Mill on the Floss. By George Eliot 20 

4 Under Two Flags. By “ Ouida ” 20 

5 Admiral’s Ward. By Mrs. Alexander.. 20 

6 Portia. By “ The Duchess ”. 20 

7 File No. 113. By Emile Gaboriau 20 

8 East Lynne. By Mrs. Henry Wood ...» 20 

9 Wanda. By “Ouida 20 

10 The Old Curiosity Shop. By Dickens. 20 

11 John Halifax, Gentleman. MissMulock 20 

12 Other People’s Money. By Gaboriau. 20 
18 Eyre’s Acquittal. By Helen B. Mathers 10 
14 Airy Fairy Lilian. By “ The Duchess ” 10 


15 Jane Ey~~ By Charlotte BrontA 20 

16 Phyllis, ^.y “ Tae Duchess” 20 

17 The Wooing O’t. By Mrs. Alexander,. 15 

18 Shandon Bells. By William Black.... 20 

19 Her Mother’s Sin. By the Author of 

“Dora Thorne” 10 

20 Within an Inch of His Life. By Emile 

Gaboriau 20 

21 Sunrise. By William Black 20 


22 David Copperfle’d. Dickens. Yol. I.. 20 

22 David Copperflewl. Dickens. Vol. H. 20 

23 A Princess of Thule. By William Black 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Dickens. Vol. I... 20 

24 Pickwick Papers. Dickens. Vol. II.. 20 

25 Mrs. Geoffrey. By “ The Duchess ”... 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Gaboriau. Vol. I, 20 

26 Monsieur Lecoq. By Gaboriau. Vol. II. 20 

27 Vanity Fair. By William M. Thackeray 20 

28 Ivanhoe. By Sir Walter Scott.. ... 20 

29 Beauty’s Daughters. “ The Duchess ” 10 

30 Faith and Unfaith. By “ The Duchess ” 20 

31 Middlemarch. By George Eliot 20 

32 The Land Leaguers. Anthony Trollope 20 

33 The Clique of Gold. By Emile Gaboriau 10 
84 Daniel Deronda. By George Eliot ... 30 
35 Lady Audley’s Secret. Miss Braddon 20 


36 Adam Bede. By George Eliot 20 

37 Nicholas Nickleby. By Charles Dickens 30 

38 The Widow Lerouge. By Gaboriau.. 20 

39 In Silk Attire. By William Black 20 

40 The Last Days of Pompeii. By Sir E. 

Bulwer Lytton .............. 20 

41 Oliver Twist. By Charles Dickens .. . . 15 

42 Romola. By George Eliot 20 


43 The Mystery of Orcival. Gaboriau. ... 20 

44 Macleod of Dare. By William Black.. 20 

45 A Little Pilgrim. By Mrs. Oliphant. .. 10 

46 Very Hard Cash. By Charles Reade.. 20 

47 Altiora Peto. By Laurence Oliphant.. 20 

48 Thicker Than Water. By James Payn. 20 

49 That Beautiful Wretch. By Black. . . 20 

50 The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton. 


By William Black 20 

61 Dora Thorne. By the Author of “ Her 

Mother’s Sin” 20 

62 The New Magdalen. By Wilkie Collins. 10 

53 The Story of Ida. By Francesca 10 

64 A Broken Wedding-Ring. By the Au- 

thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 20 

65 The Three Guardsmen. By Dumas. ... 20 

66 Phantom Fortune. Miss Braddon.... 20 

67 Shirley. By Charlotte Bront6 20 


NO. PRICE. 

58 By the Gate of the Sea. D. C. Murray 10 

59 ViceVersA By F. Anstey 

60 The Last of the Mohicans. Cooper. . 

61 Charlotte Temple. By Mrs. Rowson 

62 The Executor. By Mrs. Alexander.. 

63 The Spy. By J. Fenimore Cooper. . . 

64 A Maiden Fair. By Charles Gibbon . . 

65 Back to the Old Home. By M. C. Hay 

66 The Romance of a Poor Young Man. 

By Octave Feuillet 

67 Loma Doone. By R. D. Blackmore. . 

68 A Queen Amongst Women. By the 

Author of “ Dora Thorne ” 

69 Madolin’s Lover. By the Author of 

“Dora Thorne” 


70 White Wings. By William Black ... 

71 A Struggle for Fame. Mrs. Riddell.. 

72 Old Myddelton’s Money. By M. C. Hay 

73 Redeemed by Love. By the Author of 

“Dora Thome ” 

74 Aurora Floyd. By Miss M. E. Braddon 

75 Twenty Years After. By Dumas... 

76 Wife in Name Only. By the Author of 

“ Dora Thorne” 

77 A Tale of Two Cities. By Dickens 

78 Madcap Violet. By William Black... 

79 Wedded and Parted. By the Author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 

80 June. By Mrs. Forrester. 

81 A Daughter of Heth. By Wm. Black. 

82 Sealed Lips. By F. Du Boisgobey. . . 

83 A Strange Story. Bulwer Lytton 

84 Hard Times. By Charles Dickens. . . 

85 A Sea Queen. By W. Clark Russell.. 

86 Belinda. By Rhoda Broughton 

87 Dick Sand ; or, A Captain at Fifteen, 

By Jules Verne 

88 The Privateersman. Captain Marryat 

89 The Red Eric. By R. M. Ballantyne. 

90 Ernest Maltravers. Bulwer Lytton.. 

91 Barnaby Rudge. By Charles Dickens. 

92 Lord Lynne’s Choice. By the Author 

of “Dora Thome ” 

93 Anthony Trollope’s Autobiography.. 

94 Little Dorrit. By Charles Dickens. . . 

95 The Fire Brigade. R. M. Ballantyne 

96 Erling the Bold. By R. M. Ballantyne 

97 All in a Garden Fair. Walter Besant. . 

98 A Woman-Hater. By Charles Reade. 

99 Barbara’s History. A. B. Ed wards . . . 

100 20,000 Leagues Under the Seas. By 

Jules Verne 

101 Second Thoughts. Rhoda Broughton 

102 The Moonstone. By Wilkie Collins.. . 15 

103 Rose Fleming. By Dora Russell. . . . , 10 

104 The Coral Pin. By F. Du Boisgobey. °' 

105 A Noble W ife. By John Saunders. . . 

106 Bleak House. By Charles Dickens. . . 

107 Dombe.y and Son. Charles Dickens. . 

108 The Cricket o the Hearth, and Docto> 

Marigold. By Charles Dickens. . . 

109 Little Loo. By W. Clark Russell 

110 Under the Red Flag. By Miss Braddon 

111 The Little School-Master Mark. By 

J. H. Shorthouse 

112 The Waters of Marah. By John Hill - 


8S8SS88S 88888 88S88S8S 858 888 8838 3 83 3388388 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY —Pocket Edition. 


NO. PRICE. 

" 1 3 Mrs. Carr's Companion. By M. 

G. Wightwick 10 

of Our Girls. By Mrs. 

"Mart ‘ 20 

* Diamond. By T. 

’moe 10 

” 20 

l Ocean. 

... 20 
->c 

ei 5 . 10 

n an. 
x 1 The Du. 

EL own’s Sc; 

T. By Thou 
Athens. By o . 


1; *t. By Mrs. E. L.> 


•123 ’ ove. By “ The 

10 

124 T. By William 

L 20 

125 The . ">g Lane. 


By \. 20 

126 Kilmeny v . . . 20 

127 Adrian Bi. V 20 


128 Afternoon, c 

By “ Ouida 

129 Rossmoyne. b^ 

ggg ” 

130 The Last of the . 

Sir E. Bulwer Lytto. 

131 Our Mutual Friend, v 

Dickens 

132 Master Humphrey’s Clock. ^ 

Charles Dickens 

133 Peter the Whaler. By W. H. G. 


Kingston 10 

134 The Witching Hour. By “ The 

Duchess” 10 

135 A Great Heiress. By R. E. Fran- 

cillon 10 

136 “That. Last Rehearsal.” By 

“ The Duchess ” 10 

137 Uncle Jack. By Walter Besant 10 

138 Green Pastures and Piccadilly. 

B.y William Black 20 

139 The Romantic Adventures of a 

Milkmaid. By Thomas Hardy 10 

140 A Glorious Fortune. By Walter 

Besant 10 

141 She Loved Him! By Annie 

Thomas .'. 10 

142 Jenifer. By Annie Thomas 20 

143 One False, Both Fair. J. B. 

Harwood 20 

144 Promises of Marriage. By 

Emile Gaboriau 10 

145 “ Storm-Beaten God and The 

Man. By-Robert Buchanan. . 20 

146 Love Finds the Way. By Walter 

Besant and James Rice 10 

147 Rachel Ray. By Anthony Trol- 

lope 20 

248 Thorns and Orange-Blossoms. 

By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 10 


NO. PRICE. 

149 The Captain’s Daughter. From 

the Russian of Pushkin 10 

150 For Himself Alone. By T. W. 

Speight 10 

151 The Ducie Diamonds. By C. 

Blatherwick 10 

152 The Uncommercial Traveler. 

By Charles Dickens 20 

153 The Golden Calf. By MissM. E. 

Braddon 20 

154 Annan Water. By Robert Bu- 

chanan 20 

'55 Lady Muriel’s Secret. By Jean 

Middlemas 20 

^or a Dream’s Sake.” By Mrs. 

"bert Martin 20 

Hero. By F. W. Robin- 


20 

By Norman Mac- 

10 

Madness, and 
■ i. J*y Evince' 
.. 10 


160 Her ieds. By Sarah 

Tytlfc- 10 

161 The Lad> Lyons. Founded 

on the Pla of that title by 
Lord Lytton 10 

162 Eugene Aram. By Sir E. Bul- 

wer Lytton 20 

** Winifred Power. By Joyce Dar- 
rell 20 

’’a ; or, The Siege of Grenada. 

Sir E. Bulwer Lytton 10 

f ory of Henry Esmond. 

>m Makepeace.Thack- 
20 


1 Marguerites. By 
” 10 

16, By Wilkie 

20 . 


168 No ^ Charles 

Dicke. Jins... 10 

169 The Hauii. . Jharles 

Dickens — 10 

170 A Great Treat >y Mary 

Hoppus 30 


171 Fortune’s Wheel, u.vd Other 

Stories. By “ The Duchess ” 10 

172 “ Golden Girls.” By Alan Muir 20 

173 The Foreigners. B}' Eleanor C. 


Price 20 

174 Under a Ban. By Mrs. Lodge. .'20 

175 Love’s Random Shot, and Other 

Stories. By Wilkie Collins. . . 10 

176 An Aj5ril Day. By Philippa P. 

Jephson *. 10 

177 Salem Chapel. By Mrs.Oliphant 20 

178 More Leaves from the Journal 

of a Life in the Highlands. By 
Queen Victoria. 10 

179 Little Make-Believe. By B. L. 

Farjeon 10 

180 Round the Galley Fire. By W. 

Clark Russell 10 

181 The New Abelard. By Robert 

Buchanan 10 

182 The Millionaire. A Novel 20 




THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Pocket Edition. 


NO - PRICE. 

383 Old Contrairy, and Of her Sto- 
ries. By Florence Marryat... 10 
181 Thirlby Hall. By W. E Norris. 20 

185 Dita. By Lad\ r Margaret Ma- 

jendie 10 

186 The Canon’s Ward. By James 

Payn • 20 

187 The Midnight Sun. By Fredrika 

Bremer 10 

188 Idonea. By Anne Beale 20 

389 Walerie’s Fate. Mrs. Alexander 5 

190 Romance of a Black Veil. By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ’’ 10 
391 Harry Lorrequer. By Chades 
Lever 15 

192 At the World's Merc}'. By F. 

Warden ' 10 

193 The Rosary Folk. By G. Man 

ville Fenn 10 

194 “ So Near, and Yet So Far 1” By 

Alison 10 

195 “ The Way of the World.” By 

David Christie Murray 15 

196 Hidden Perils. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 10 

197 For Her Dear Sake. By Mary 

Cecil Hay. 20 

198 A Husband's Story 10 

199 The Fisher Village. By Anne 

Beale. 1 10 

200 An, Old Man's Love. By An- 

thony Trollope 10 

201 The Monastery. By Sir Walter 

Scott 20 

202 The Abbot. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

203 John Bull and His Island. By 

Max O'Rell. 10 

204 Vixen. By Miss Bf. E. Braddon 15 

205 The Minister’s \yife. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 30 

206 The Picture, and Jack of All 

Trades. Bv Charles Reade. . 10 

207 Pretty Miss Neville. By B. M. 

Croker 15 

208 The Ghost of Charlotte Cray, 

and Other Stories. By Flor- 
ence Marryat 10 

209 John Holdsvvorth, Chief Mate. 

By W. Clark Russell 10 

. 210 Readiana: Comments on Cur- 
rent Events. Bv Chas. Reade 10 

211 The Octoi'oon. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon ! 10 

212 Charles O'Malley, the Irish Dra- 

goon. By Chas. Lever (Com- . 
plete in one volume) 30 

213 A Terrible Temptation. Chas. 

Reade 15 

214 Put Yourself in H'is Place. By • 

Charles Reade 20 

215 Not Like Other Girls. By Rosa 

Nouehette Carey 15 

216 Foul Play. By Charles Reade. 15 

217 The Man She Cared For. By 

F. W. Robinson 15 

218 Agnes Sorel. By G. P. It. James 15 

219 Lady Clare; or, The Master of 

the Forges. By Georges Olinet 10 




NO. PRICE 

220 Which Loved Him Best? By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne 1G 

221 Cornin’ Thro’ the Rye. By 

Helen B. Mathers 1& 

222 The Sun-Maid. By Miss Grant 15 

223 A Sailor’s Sweetheart. By W. 

Clark Russell 15 

224 The Arundel Motto. Ma y Cecil 

Hay 

225 The Giant’s Robe. ByF. Anstey 5 

226 Friendship. By “ Ouida ” 20 

227 Nancy. ' By Rhoda Broughton. 15 

228 Princess Napi axine. By “ Oui- 

da” 20 

229 Maid, Wife, or Widow? By 

Mrs. Alexander 10 

230 Dorothy Forster. By Walter 

Besaut 15. 

231 Griffith Gaunt. Charles Reafie 15 

232 Love and Money; or, A Perilous 

Secret. By Charles Reade. . . i0 

233 “ I Say No or, the Love-Letter 

Answered. Wilkie GoTl ins.... 15 

234 Barbara; or, Splendid Misery. 

Miss M; E. Braddon 15 

235 “It is Never Too Late to 
Mend.” By Charles Reade. . . 20 

236 WJreh Shall It Be? Mrs. Alex- 
ander go 

237 Repented at Leisure. By the 
author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 15 

238 Pascarel. By “ Ouida ” 20 

239 Signa. By “ Ouida ” 20 

240 Called Back. By Hugh Conway 10 

241 The Baby's Grandmother. By 

L. B. Walford 10 

242 The Two Orphans. ByD’Ennery 10 

243 Tom Burke of “Ours.” First 

half. By Charles Lever 20 

243 Tom Burke of “ Ours.” Second 

half. By Charles Lever 20 

244 A Great Mistake. By the author 

of “ His Wedded Wife 20 

245 Mifcs Tommy, and In a House- 

Boat. By Bliss Mulock 10 

246 A Fatal Dower. By the author 

of “ His Wedded Wife ” 10 

247 The Annourer’s Prentices'. By 

Charlotte BI. Yonge 10 

248 The House on the Blarsh. F. 

Warden 10 

249 “ Prince Charlie’s Daughter.” 

By author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

250 Sunshine and Roses; or, Di- 

ana’s Discipline. By the au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

251 The Daughter of the Stars, and 

Other Tales. By Hugh Con- 
way, author of “Called Back” 10 

252 A Sinless Secret. By “ Rita . 10 

253 The Amazon By Carl Vosmaer 10 

254 The Wife^s Secret, and Fair but 

False. By the author of 
“ Dora Thorne ” 10 

255 The Blystery. By BIrs. Henry 

Wood... 4. 15 

256 BIr. Smith: A Part of His Life. 

By L. B. Walford 15 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY —Pocket Edition. 


2fO. PRICE. 

257 Beyond Recall. By Adeline Ser- 

geant j . 10 

258 Cousins. By L. B. Walford 20 

250 The Bride of Monte-Cristo. (A. 

Sequel to “ The Count of 
Monte-Cristo,” By Alexander 
Dumas 10 

260 Proper Pride. By B. M. Croker 10 

261 A Fair Maid. By F. W. Robinson 20 

262 The Count of Monte-Cristo. . 

Parti By Alexander Dumas 20 
262 The Count of Monte Crist o. 

Part II. By Alexander Dumas 20 
268 An Ishmaelite. By Miss M. E. 

Braddon 15 

264 PiAdouche, A French Detective. 

By Fortune Du Boisgobey — 10 

265 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love 

Affairs and Other Adventures. 

By William Black 15 

266 The Water-Babies. A Fa*iry Tale 

for a Land-Baby. By the Rev. 
Charles Kingsley 10 

267 Laurel Vane; or. The- Girls’ 

Conspiracy. By Mrs. Alex. 
McVeigh Miller 20 

268 Lady Gay’s Pride; or. The 

Miser s Treasure. By Mrs. 
Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

269 Lancaster's Choice. By Mrs. 

Alex. McVeigh Miller 20 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part I. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

270 The Wandering Jew. Part II. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part I. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

271 The Mysteries of Paris. Part II. 

By Eugene Sue 20 

272 The Little Savage. By Captaiu 

Marry at... 10 

273 Love and Mirage: or. The Wait- 

ing on an Islaud. By M. 
Betham Edwards. 10 

274 Alice, Grand Duchess of Hesse, 

Princess of Great Britain and 
Ireland. Biographical Sketch 
and Letters 10 

275 The Three Brides. Charlotte M. 

Yonge 10 

276 Under the Lilies and Roses. By 

Florence Marryat (Mrs. Fran- 
cis Lean) 10 

277 The Surgeon’s Daughters. By 

Mrs. Henry Wood. A Man of 
His Word.' By W. E. Norris. 10 

278 For Life and Love. By Alison. 10 

279 Little Goldie. Mrs. Sumner Hay- 

den 20 

280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale of So- 

ciety. By Mrs. Forrester 10 

281 The Squire’s Legacy. By Mary 

Cecil Hay 15 

282 Donal Grant. By George Mac- 

Donald 15 

283 The Sin of a Lifetime. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 
584 Doris. By “ The Duchess ”, .. 10 


NO. PRICE. 

285 The Gambler’s Wife 20 

286 Deldee ; or. The Iron Hand. By 

F. Warden 20 

287 At War With Herself. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”... 10 

288 From Gloom to Sunlight. By 

the author of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

289 John Bull's Neighbor in Her 

True Light. By a “ Brutal 
Saxon ” 10 

290 Nora’s Love Test. By Mary Cecil 

Hay 20 

291 Love’s Warfare. By the author 

of Dora Thorne” 10 

292 A Golden Heart. By the author 

of “Dora Thorne” 10 

293 The Shadow of a Sin. By the 

author of “ Dora Thorne ”.. . 10 

294 Hilda. Bv the author of “ Dora 

Thorne” 10 

295 A Woman's War. By the author 

of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

296 A Rose in Thorns. By the au- 

thor of “ Dora Thorite ” 10 

297 Hilary’s Folly. By the author 

of “ Dora. Thorne ” 10 

298 Mitch el hurst Place. By Marga- 

ret Veley... 10 

299 The Fatal Lilies, and A Bride 

from Hie Sea. B 3 ’ the author 
of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

300 A Gilded Sin, and A Bridge of 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne ” 10 

301 Dark Days. By Hugh. Conway. 10 

302 The Blatchford Bequest. By 

Hugh Conway 10 

303 Ingledew House, and More Bit- 

ter than Death. By the author 
of “Dora Thorne” 10 

304 I 11 Cupid’s Net. By the author 

Cf “Dora Thorne” 10 

305 A Dead Heart, and Lady Gwen- 

doline's Dream. By the au- 
thor of “ Dora Thorne ” 10 

306 A Golden Dawn, and Love for a 

Day. By the author of “ Dora 
Thorne” 10 

307 Two Kisses, and Like No Other 

Love. By the author of “ Dora 

Thorne”... JO 

-308 Beyond Pardon 20 

309 The Pathfinder. By J. Feni- 

inore Cooper 20 

310 The Prairie. By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

311 Two Years Before the Mast. By 

R. H. Dana. Jr 20 

312 A Week in ICi Harney. By “The 

Duchess” 10 

313 The Lover's Creed. By Mrs. 

Cashel Hoey, 15 

314 Peril. By Jessie Fothergill — 20 

315 The Mistletoe Bough. Edited 

by Miss M. E. Braddon 20 

316 Sworn to Silence; or. Aline Rod- 

ney’s Secret. By Mrs. Alex. 
McVeigh Miller 20 


( 5 ; 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY -Pocket Edition. 


NO. PRICE. 

317 By Mead and Stream. Charles 

Gibbon 20 

318 The Pioneers; or, The Sources 

of the Susquehanna. By J. 
Fenimore Cooper 20 

319 Face to Face: A Fact in Seven 

Fables. By R. E. Fraucillon. 10 

320 A Bit of Human Nature. By 

David Christie Murray. ...... 10 

321 The Prodigals: And Their In- 

heritance. By Mis. Olipliant 10 

322 A Woman’s Love-Story. ...... 10 

323 A Willful Maid..... 20 

324 In Luck at Last. By Walter 

Besant 10 

325 The Portent. By George Mac- 

donald. 10 

326 Phantastes. A Faerie Romance 

for Men and Women. Bj r 
George Macdonald... 10 

327 Raymond’s Atonement. (From 

the German of E. Werner.) 

By Christina Tyrrell... . 20 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. First half. 20 

328 Babiole, the Pretty Milliner. By 

F. Du Boisgobey. Second half 20 

329 The Polish J ew. By Erckmann 

Chatrian ........ ... lo 

330 Ma}' Blossom ; or, Between Two 

Loves. By Margaret Lee « 20 

331 Gerald. By Eleanor C. Price.. 20 

332 Judith Wynne. A Novel. . „ 20 

333 Frank Fairlegh ; or, Scenes 

from the Life of a Private 
Pupil. By Frank E. Smedley '20 

334 A Marriage of Convenience. By 

Harriett Jay.'. ..... ...... 10 

335 The White Witch. A Novel. - - 20 

336 Philistia, By Cecil Power ..... 20 

337 Memoirs and Resolutions of 

Adam Graeme of Mossgray, 
Including Some Chronicles of 
the Borough of Fendie. By 
Mrs. Oliphant 20 

338 The Family Difficulty. By Sarah 

Doudney... ... 10 

339 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid. 

By Mrs. Alexander. ...... 10 

340 Under Which King? By Comp- 

ton Reade. 20 

341 Madolin Rivers; or. The Little 

Beauty of Red Oak Seminary. 

By Laura Jean Libbey ... 20 

342 The Baby, and One New Year’s 

Eve. By “The Duchess”. .. . 10 

343 The Talk of the Town. By‘ 

James Payn . 20 

344 “ The Wearing of the Green.” 

By Basil 20 

345 Madam. By Mrs. Oliphant.... 20 

346 Tumbledown Farm. By Alan 

Muir 10 

347 As Avon Flows. By Henry Scott 

Vince 20 

348 From Post to Finish. A Racing 

Romance. By Hawley Smart 20 


(Continued on Third Page of Cover.) 


NO. PRICE 

349 The Two Admirals. A Tale of 

the Sea. By J. Fenimore 
_ Cooper 28 

350 Diana of the Crossways. By 

George Meredith 10 

351 The House on the Moor. By 

Mrs. Oliphant 20 

352 At Any Cost. By Edward Gar- 

rett io 

353 The Black Dwarf, and A Leg- 

end of Montrose. By Sir Wal- 
ter Scott . . 20 

354 The Lottery of Life. A Story 

of New York Twenty Years 
Ago. By John Brougham... 20 

355 That Terrible Man. By W. E. 

Norris. The Princess Dago- 
mar of Poland. By Heinrich 
Felbermann 10 

356 A Good Hater. By Frederick 

Boyle 20 

357 John. A Love Story. By Mrs. 

Oliphant 20 

358 Within the Clasp. By J. Ber- 

wick Harwood 20 

359 The Water- Witch. By J. Feni- 

more Cooper 20 

360 Ropes of Sand. By R. E. Fran- 

cillon, 20 

361 The Red Rover. A Tale of the 

Sea. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

362 The Bride of Lammermoor. 

By Sir Walter Scott. 20 

363 The Surgeon’s Daughter. By 

Sir Walter Scott 10 

364 Castle Dangerous. By Sir Wal- 

ter Scott. io 

365 George Christy; or, The Fort- 

unes of a Minstrel. By Tony 
Pastor. 20 

366 The Mysterious Hunter; or, 

The Man of Death. By Capt. 

L. C. Carleton 20 

367 Tie and Trick. By Hawley Smart 20 

368 The Southern Star ; or. The Dia- 

mond Land. By Jules Verne 20 

369 Miss Bretherton. By Mrs. Hum- 

phry Ward io 

370 LucyCrofton. By Mrs. Oliphant 10 

371 Margaret Maitland. By Mrs. Oli- 

phant 20 

372 Phyllis’ Probation. By the au- 

thor of “ His Wedded Wife ”. 10 

373 Wing-and-Wing. J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

374 The Dead Man’s Secret ; or, The 

Adventures of a Medical Stu- 
dent. By Dr. Jupiter Paeon.. 20 

375 A Ride to Khiva. By Capt. Fred 

Burnaby, of the Royal Horse 
Guards 20 

376 The Crime of Christmas-Day. 

By the author of “ My Duc- 
ats and Mv Daughter 10 

377 Magdalen Hepburn : A Story 

of the Scottish Reformation. 

By Mrs. Oliphant. 20 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


A NOVEL. 




P 


/y ' 

By C V R? COLERIDGE. 



NEW YORK: 

GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 


17 to ii7 Vandkwatku Strkkt. 


V 


P <y 

c^- 


> 

PREFACE, 


In bringing this tale in a complete form before the public, 1 
should wish it to be understood that it arose out of a series ot con- 
versations with a friend who suggested the character of Alvar Les- 
ter, to the original invention of which I can lay no claim whatever. 
He came to me from his Spanish home, and 1 have done nothing 
With him but turn him into an English Squire. 

C. 11. COLERIDGE. 


* 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


PART 1. 

HOME LIFE. 

“A little more than kin, and less than kind.’ 1 


CHAPTER I. 

THE LESTERS OF OAKBY 
“ YoUng barbarians all at play.” 

Some few years ago Mr. Gerald Lester was the head of a family 
of good blood and position, and the owner of Oakby flail, the great 
house of a village of the same name in the county of Westmoreland. 
The border line between Westmoreland and Yorkshire crossed his 
property; but his house and park were in the former county, for 
which he was a deputy lieutenant and justice of the peacei 

He was not a man of very large fortune, and Oakby Ilall was not 
a show place, but ji well-built mansion of the last century, with 
some architectural pretensions, and standing in the midst of that 
sort of wild and romantic scenery which, perhaps more than any 
other., fixes the affections of its inhabitants. Oakby, at any rate, was 
very dear to its owner. 

The great sweeps of heather-clad moor, the fell sides, with their 
short green turf, the fertile valleys, had a character of their own, 
interior as Ihey w.ere to the better-known parts of Westmoreland. 

Oakby village was situated in one ot the largest of these valleys, 
and the Hall lay low on the side of a hill over which the well-planted 
park stretched on either side. The house could be seen all the way 
up the long carriage drive, for it was only shut off from the park by 
an iron railing, within which the turt was mown close and fine, in- 
stead of being lett to be cropped by sheep and cattle. The gardens 
were at the side, and there were no trees in front of the house but 
one oak of great size and beauty. There was a wide carriage sweep, 
and the space between this and the house was paved, and on either 
side of the front door was a stone wolf of somewhat forbidding 
aspect- -the crest of the Lesters. 

The gray stone house thus exposed to view was stately enough, 
and though too open and free to be exactly gloomy, this northern 
front was bleak and cold, especially on a frost} r winter twilight, 
■when the light was dying away in the distance, and the piece of 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


8 

ornamental water and the pleasant bits of woodland beyond were 
not distinctly visible. No such thought ever crossed the minds of 
the young Lesters, who came back to it trom school and college as 
to the dearest of homes; but to a stranger, a little doubtiul of a wel- 
come, it might perhaps look formidable. 

Within doors a blazing fire and abundance of rugs and skins 
made the hall the most attractive place in the house, both for dogs 
and men; especially between the lights, When there was little to do 
anywhere else, and all were tired with their day’s work, or ready to 
discuss their day’s amusement. 

Just before Christmas play was legitimate; and the young Lesters, 
skates in hand, had just returned from the lake, and were grouped 
together round the fire, noisily praising and criticising each other’s 
recent perforin anees. 

“ 1 never should have had a tumble all day it Bob hadn’t come 
up against me like a steam-engine,” cried the one girl, a tall creat- 
ure of sixteen, big, fair, and rosy. 

“ I came against you! That’s a good one. Who could keep out 
of your way?” ejaculated the aggrieved twin brother. “ You can 
no more guide yourself than — ” 

‘‘•A. balloon,” put in the more softly accented voice of the eldest 
brother present, as he unfastened his skates from the neck of his 
great St. Bernard, who had dutifully carried them home for him. 

“ Now, Cherry, that’s not. true!” cried the girl in loud indigna- 
tion. “ Of course 1 can’t be expected to do figures of eight and 
spread-eagles like you. and Jack.” 

I saw an American fellow the other day who skated twice as 
well as either of us. ’ ’ 

“No? All! 1 don’t believe that!” from the girl. 

“ But then they’ve ice all the year round,” from Bob. 

“ I dare say they can’t do anything else,” from Jack. 

“ Jack always is so liberal!” from Cheriton, and then, “ Hush! 
here’s the squire.” 

It was sometimes said that no one of the young Lesters would be 
so fine a rpan as his father; and certainly Mr. Lester was a splendid 
specimen of an English gentleman, though the big Jack rivaled 
him in inches, and promised equal size and strength, while Cheriton, 
who was of a slighter build, inherited his blue eyes and brilliant 
coloring. But they were his own children — every one fair, and tall, 
and healthy; and their characteristic difterences did not destroy their 
strong resemblance to each other and to Iheir handsome father, who 
now stood in the midst of them with a foreign letter in his hand, at 
which the children glanced curiously. 

He was not much above fifty; his hair and beard, which hacl 
once deserved to be called golden, had rather faded than grizzled, 
his skin was still fresh and healthy, and his eyes bright in color and 
full of expression ; the level brows met over them. His children, 
as has been said, were curiously like him— Annette, or Nettie, as 
she was commonly called, perhaps the most so-. Although she was 
big and unformed, she had the promise of great beauty in her 
straight sulky brows and large sky-blue eyes, resplendent coloring 
.which defied sunburn, and abundant yellow hair.' Her nose was 
straight and fine, like hei father’s, but her full red lips were a 




AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 1 


9 


trifle sullen; the contour of her lace was heavy, ami though she 
looked well-born and well-bred, she lacked the refinement of intelli- 
gent expression. But if her great blue eyes looked stupid and 
rather cross, they were .as honest as the day; and at sixteen there 
was still time for thoughts and feelings to come and print them- 
selves on this beautiful piece of flesh and blood. ' 

She was very untidy though handsomely dressed, and had the 
awkwardness of a girl too big for her age; but as she stood leaning 
back against the oak table, there was such vigor and life in her 
.strong young limbs as to give them a kind of grace. She had a low 
voice of refined quality, but she spoke with a strong north-country 
accent; as did her father. In the brothers it was much modified by 
their southern schooling. The twin brother, Robert, retained, how- 
ever, a good deal of it. He was a heavier, less handsome likeness 
of her, and might have been described as a fine lad or a great lout, 
according to the prepossessions of the speaker. The next brother, 
John, or^ as he was usually called, Jack, had, at nineteen, hardly 
yet outgrown the same ungainliness of manner; but his height, and 
the strength trained by many an athletic struggle, could not fail to 
be striking; ancl though he had something of the same sullen straight- 
ness of brow, the eyes beneath were thoughtful and keen. There 
was no lack of mental power in Jack’s grave young face, and h<3 
was a formidable opponent to his school* fellows in contests of brain 
as well as of muscle. 

Cheriton, except that his brows arched a little, so that he could 
not attain to the perfection of the family frown, and that he was an 
inch or two shorter and much slighter, was so like Jack that when 
he was grave and silent his brighter coloring ancl the mustaches to 
which he had attained were, at first sight, the chief points ot differ- 
ence between them. Byt then Jack’s face to-day would be his face 
to-morrow, while Chenton’s expression varied with almost every 
word he spoke, so that he was sometimes said t.o be tlie image of Ids 
father, sometimes to be the one Lester who was like nobody but 
himself; while now and then old friends wondered how this hand- 
some young man came to have such a look of the mother, who* had 
been no beaut} r , hut only a high- minded and cultivated woman. He 
was his father’s favorite, and somehow his brothers were not jeal- 
ous of the preference. “Cherry,” as they called him, was the 
family oracle, though he risked his place now and then when his 
utterances were not in accordance with the prevailing sentiment. 

Mr. Lester’s expression was now dark enough, to indicate annoy- 
ance of no common kind; but it did not take much to make him 
look cross, and if his sons and daughter had not known that there 
was an unusual speck on the family horizon, they would have sur- 
mised that the keepers were in disgrace, the newspaper late in 
arriving, or that they themselves had unwittingly transgressed. 

As it was, they were all silent, though Cheriton looked up with t 
question in his eyes, and the twins glanced at each other. 

“ I have had a letter from— your brother; he has started on his 
journey, and will be here in a day or two.” 

No one spoke for a moment, and then Cheriton said— 

“ Well, father, 1 shall be very glad to see him. It’s a good time 


10 AN ENGLISH SQ'UIB.E. 

for him to come, and 1 hope we shall be able to make it pleasant for 
him.” 

“ Pleasant tor him, 7 ' growled Bob. 

“ It won’t be at all pleasant for us, 77 said his sister. “ Fancy a 
foreign fellow interfering in all our concerns. And Granny says 
he’s sure to set us a bad example.” 

“ Ay,” said the father, “ you lads needn’t be in too great a hurry 
to get up an intimacy.” 

“ There’s not much fear of that,” said Cheriton. 

“Ah, my boy,” said Mr. Lester, turning to him, “you take it 
very well; but it’s hard on you; no one knows better than 1 do.” 

“ As for me,” said Cheriton, with a shade of the characteristic 
family gruff ness in his much pleasanter voice, “ you know it has 
always been my wish that he should come, and why should we set 
ourselves against it?” 

“ He ought to have come sooner,” said Jack. 

“That’s no affair of yours, Jack,” saidliis father sharply. “ Don’t 
be so ready with your comments. lie is coming now, and— and I’ll 
hear no more grumbling. I’m hanged if 1 know what we are all to 
make of him, though,” he muttered as he left the hall. 

“ He’d better not interfere with me,” ssiidBob. “ I shall take no 
notice of him.” 

“ Poor fellow!” said Cheriton satirically. 

“I won’t kiss him, 1 declare,” cried his sister. 

“ Now you boys, and Nettie, look here,” said Cheriton seriously. 
” Alvar is our father’s son and our brother. He is the eldest, and 
•has his rights. That’s the fact; and his having lived all his life in 
Spain doesn’t alter it, And if his coming* is strange to ns, what 
will it be for him? Isn’t it an awful shame to set our backs up be- 
fore we see him? Ls it his fault?” 

Cheriton’s influence in the family was considerable, and the 
younger ones had no answer to his arguments; but influence and 
arguments are weak compared to prejudice; and no one answered 
till Jack grumbled out — 

“ Ot course we must do our duty by him, and perhaps he’ll im- 
prove.” 

“ On acquaintance,” suggested Cheriton, with half -suppressed 
fun. “ Suppose he’s a finer fellow than any of us, and a better 
sort altogether. What shall we do then?” 

“Oh, but lie’s a foreigner, you know,” said Nettie, as if this 
settled the question. “ Come, Bob, let’s go and see the puppies 
fed.” 

“ What I say is,” said Jack, as the twins went away and left 
their elders to a freer discussion, “ that the thing has been left too 
late. Here is Alvar— twenty-five, isn’t he?” 

“ Yes; he is only two years older than I am.” 

“ How can he turn into an Englishman? It’s all very well for 
you to chaff about it, and lectuie the young ones: but the squire 
won’t stand him with patience for a day; there’ll be one continual 
row. Everything will he turned topsy-turvy. He’ll go back to 
Seville in a month.” 

Cheriton was silent. Pie was older than Jack by nearly four 
years, and perhaps should not have attributed so much importance 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 11 

to the grumbling of his juniors; but his wider outlook only enabled 
him to see that their feelings were one-sided, it did not prevent him 
from sharing I hem ; and the gift of a more sympathetic nature dig, 
but make him more conscious of how far these leelings were justi- 
fiable. Home life at Oakby had its difficulties, its toughnesses, and 
its daily tiials; but what did this signify to the careless boys who 
had no dignity to lose, and by whom a harsh word from their fa- 
ther, or a rough one from each other, was forgotten anil repealed 
twenty times a day? He himself had hardly grown into that inde- 
pendent existence which would make an unkindness from a bi other 
an insqlt, an injustice from a father a thing to be resented beyond 
the day. It was still all among themselves, they knew each oilier, 
and suited each other, and stood up for each other against the 
world. They were still the children of their father’s house, and 
that tie was much too close and real for surface quarrels and dis- 
putes to slacken it. But this stranger, who must be the very first 
among them all, yet wdio did not know them, and whom they did 
not know, who had a right to this same identity of interest, and yet 
who would assuredly neither feel nor win it! 

Jack accused his father ot having acted unjustly to them all; the 
younger ones rebelled with a blind prejudice which they did not 
themselves understand. Cheriton was vividly conscious of the 
stranger’s rights, yet shrunk trom all they claimed from him; t© 
the father he recalled resentment, weakness of purpose, and a 
youthful impulse, from the consequences of which lie could not 
escape. The grandmother upstairs, no inconsiderable power in the 
Oakby household, formulated the vague distaste of her descendants, 
and strongly expressed her belief that a loreign heir would grieve 
lifs father, corrupt his brothers, and ruin his inheritance. 

And now who was this foreign heir, this unknown brother, and 
what was the explanation of his existence? 


CHAPTER II. 

THE SON AND HEIR. 

“ Love should ride the wind j 

With Spain’s dark-glancing 'daughters.” 

Some six or seven and twenty years before the date when his sons 
were thus discussing their elder brother’s arrival. raid Lestev 
then a young man fresh from college, had been sent abroad by his 
father to separate him from a girl, somewhat his inferior in rank, for 
whom he had formed an attachment. He was n9t then his father’s 
lieir, as he had an elder brother living, and he was supposed to be 
going to make his way at the bar; but though well conducted and 
brilliantly handsome, his talents and tastes were not ot an order t© 
make success rapid or certain, and such a marriage as he had con- 
templated would have been, though he had a small independence,, 
peculiarly inexpedient. Though at times passionate and- defiant, he 
was not a person of much strength of will; and he yielded to the 
pressure put on him, partly from sense of duty-* for he was bj' no 
means wanting in principle — and partly because it was too much 
trouble to resist. 


12 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

The affair, however, left him in an unsettled state of mind, and 
increased his dislike to his profession. While wandering about in 
the south of Spain, he became acquainted, through some letters of 
introduction with which he had been provided, with a family of 
position of the name of De la Rosa. While staying with them he 
met with an accident which disabled him from traveling, and 
afforded him time and opportunity to flirt and sentimentalize with 
the beautiful Maria de la Rosa, who fell passionately in love with 
the handsome Englishman. Gerald’s feelings were more on the 
surface, but he was much carried away by the circumstances; he 
felt that he would make a poor return for hospitality that had been 
shown him if he only “ loved and rode away.” 

He was enough irritated by the compulsion that his father had 
put upon him to feel glad to act independently; while the natural 
opposition of Don Guzman dela Rosa to his daughter’s marriage with 
a foreigner, stirred Gerald to more ardor than Maria’s dark eyes had 
already awakened. Her birth, at any rate, was all that could be de- 
sired, her religion ought not to be an objection in one so good and 
pious, and the nationality of his younger son’s wife could be of no 
consequence to old Mr. Lester. Don Guzman was not a zealous 
Catholic, and he yielded at length to his daughter’s entreaties; the 
young Englishman’s small independence seeming, in the eyes of the 
frugal Spaniard, a sufficient fortune. 

Gerald Lester atid Maria de la Rosa were married at Gibraltar, 
the difficulties of a legal marriage between a Protestant and a 
Roman Catholic being almost insurmountable on Spanish territory. 
In Gibraltar they lived for some time; but the marriage was not a 
happy one. Maria was a mere ignorant child, with all her notions 
irreconcilably at war with her husband’s; and Gerald, who had his 
ideals, was very unhappy. 

After some months the sudden illness of his elder brother sum- 
moned him home, and while he was absent his child was born un- 
expectedly, and his young wife died. He learned almost at once that 
he was his father’s heir, and that a son was born to him. It seemed 
no moment for making such a disclosure. His grief for his brother 
sheltered the shock and surprise of the death of the poor young 
wife, and he satisfied his conscience by writing to the English 
clergyman who had solemnized his marriage, and desiring that he 
should baptize the boy according to the rites of the English Church. 
As this stipulation had been made at the marriage, Don Guzman 
allowed the order to be carried into effect. But as no desire was 
expressed by the father to a name, it was christened Alvaro Guz- 
man— the Spanish grandfather omitting the Gerald, which he felt 
had been an ill-omened name to his daughter. 

Gerald himself, meanwhile, was almost ready to forget the little 
Alvar’s existence. He was ashamed of his foolish marriage, and 
remorseful at its secrecy and disobedience; the new life opened to 
him by his brother’s death was exceedingly congenial. Why could 
not those unhappy months be as if they had never been? The child 
was of course an unfamiliar idea to him, and except with an occa- 
sional pang he iTardly realized its existence; when the thought was 
forced on him, he regarded it with aversion. 

Three months had not, however, passed since his wife’s death, 


13 


AX ENGLISH SQUIKE. 

when he became acquainted with a Misa Cheriton, a young lady of 
good family and some fortune. She was not very pretty; but she 
was full o"f intelligence and refinement, and she was very good. 
Perhaps the force of contrast was half the attraction. When his 
father urged him to pay his addresses to Miss Cheriton, he felt how 
willingly he would have done so, but an awkward disclosure lay 
between. them. With all his faults he could not be so dishonorable 
as to marry her, without telling her that his heir was already born. 

But the friendship between them, so different from anything that 
he had ever known before, grew and strengthened, till "at last one 
evening he told her all the story. He had married foolishly and 
secreily, as far as his relations were concerned; his wife was dead 
and had left a little son. That was the story. Must it be forever 
a bar between them? Fanny Cheriton listened, though she was a 
merry, quick-tongued girl, in silence. Then she said that he must 
tell his father the whole truth, and must acknowledge the child; he 
ought to come home and be brought up as an Englishman. 

“ Who is to bring it up?” asked Gerald. 

“•I will,” said Fanny simply, amid fierce blushes, as she saw 
what her answer implied. 

Thus supported, Gerald would indeed have been a coward had he 
shrunk irom the communication; but it was a great blow to his fa- 
ther, who, however, was a stronger man, than his son; and having 
been satisfied that all was fair and legal, and that Alvaro Guzman 
Lester was really his lawful heir, and next to Gerald in the entail, 
said shortly — 

“ Fetch "him home, and make an Englishman of him if you cau. 
What’s done can’t be undone.” 

But when Gerald arrived at Seville, where Don Guzman lived, 
and where little Alvar had been taken, he found that by a strange 
coincidence the child had at once become of importance to his rela- 
tions on both sides. By the death of Don Guzman’s son, Alvar had 
become his heir, and when Gerald expressed a desire to take him 
home, he was met by great reluctance, and by a declaration that the 
child was so delicate that a removal to a northern climate would cer- 
tainly kill him. Perhaps Gerald’s consciousness that he would not 
regard the poor little fellow’s death as a misfortune, made him 
afraid to insist in the face of this argument. At any rate he re- 
turned without the child. Don Guzman’s indifferentism in religion 
allowed him to consent that Alvar should, when he grew old enough, 
be taught the English language and the Anglican faith, and even 
showed how this might be managed by means of an English clergy- 
man residing at Seville for his health. so that he was left with a' sort 
of understanding that his mother’s family were to have the charge 
of him for the present. 

Miss Cheriton was much disappointed. 

“ Every year will make it harder,” she said, and she resolved to 
use all her influence on Alvar’s behalf. But her fatber-in 'law’s 
death soon after her marriage deprived her of his' powerful aid, 
and, though his will carefully assured the succession to his son’s 
eldest son, she could not contend with her husband’s distaste and 
the Spanish relations’ determination not to give up the child. She 
bad no other troubles. Her husband shared her views as to the 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


~ 14 

duties and responsibilities of his station, and they did much for the 
good ot those around them. / 

In spite of ^ome harshness', Gerald was a good landlord and a good 
magistrate, and the most loving of fathers to the fair rosy boy who 
was now born to them. He never caied quite so much tor the 
younger ones, but “ Cherry ” was his delight and pride, so p’efty, 
so clever, and so apt at riding his little pony, or learning lo fire a gun, 
and so fond of his father! If Alvar could have been forgotten! 

But Mis. Lester was wise and far-seeing, and she would not allow 
Cheriton to forget She talked to him about Alvar; she made him 
say his prayers for “ my eldest brother away in Spain ” and she even 
caused liim once to write a little letter expressing his wish to see his 
big brother, and to show him his pony and his dogs. Perhaps 
Altai ’s education was less advanced, tor there only arrived a mes- 
sage of love from him in one of the rare letters that Don Guzman in- 
cited to Mr. Lester. 

Cherry was ralher a thoughtful child: his mother had succeeded 
in impressing his imagination, and he thought and talked a good 
deal about Alvar. One attempt was 'made to bring the child to 
England; but, when he reached France, he fell ill, and his grand- 
father huriied him back again, assuring his father that it was im- 
possible he could live in a northern climate. Mr. Lestet was too 
ready to believe this. 

Soon after Cheriton went to school, Mrs. Lester died suddenly, 
and her loss was greater than even Cheriion in his passion of childish 
grief could guess. Grief sharpened Mr. Lester s temper, and the 
Joss of his wife’s influence narrowed his mind and character. Ilis 
mother, who lived with him, and took care of the four children, did 
not urge on him the need for Alvar’s return. It ceased to he under 
discussion, and the intercourse grew Jess and less. 

Cherry, in his school life, naturally forgot for the time to think 
about him, and at home he had a thousand interests, some shared 
with his father, some of his own. For Cheriton and Jack inherited 
their mother’s talent, and as they grew up, had their minds full of 
many things out of their father’s ken. When Cheiry was twenty- 
one, his birthday was celebrated with various festivities. He was 
very popular, and the tenants dnhrk his health. Nature had given 
him a ready tongue, and the speech he made was much 'beyond the 
usual run of boyish eloquence. And as he concluded, thanking 
them for their kindness, he paused, and with a deep flush, added, 
“ And 1 wish my eldest brother, who is now in Spain, was here too, 
that we might know him, and that you might drink his health as 
well as mine.” 

“ Clieriton, why did you say that?” said his father afterward. 

“Father, 1 thought they would forget Alvar’s existence, and— I 
was afraid ot forgetting it myself.” 

As Cheriton spoke, it occurred lo Mr. Lester with new distinct- 
ness rhat he was really doing his second son a wrong, by allowing 
him to take for the time a place which could not be his permanently. 
This boy, with his ready tongue, his bright wit, and the look in his 
face that his father loved, was not his heir; was it well for him to 
act as if he were so? With a sudden resolution he wrote his eldest 


AN ’ ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


19 


them But I’m quite accustomed to ‘ tricks,’ a monkey could n t be 
more used to them. There was that affair with the chapel door—’ 

“ Oh, don’t tell me your monkey tricks,” said his grandmother, 
with half humorous indignation. ”1 know what they lead to; 
they’re bad enough. But your half-brother will smoke like a chim- 
ney and drink, like a fish, and gamble betore the lads on a Sunday. 
If those are your Oxford manners—” 

“ Really,” said Clieriton seriously, “we have no reason to sup- 
pose (hat lie will do anything, of the kind; and it he did, the boys 
are very little in the mood to imitate him. I only hope they 11 be 

decently civil to him.” . .. 

Mis. "Lester was herself a much cooler and more imperturbable 
person than any of her descendants; but she was often the cause of 
irritation in others, from a cairn persistency that ignored ali argu- 
ments and refutation: and she was especially apt to come across 
Clieriton, whom she did not recard with Ihe admiration due iiom a 
loving grandmother to a dutiful, handsome grandson. # 

“ It’s a gieat misfortune, as I always told my son it would be. 
You, Cherry, are fond of strangers and outlandish ways, so maybe 

lie’ll suit you.” ■ , 

“ Well, granny, I hope he may, and well get you to come and 
lirrht our pipes for us,” said Cherry, keeping his temper. But the 
coaxing sweetness that made him the one non-conductor of quarrels 
in a sufficiently stormy household, was apparently lost, for Mrs. 


Lester went on — . . 

“ He’ll suit the Seytons better than he’ll suit us. 

“ There’s nothing to say against the Seytons now , ’ said Cheriton 
hotly; muttering under his breath, “ I hate prejudice. 

Mr. Lester’s entrance, interrupted the discussion, though a long 
story of a broken fence between Ills property and Mr. Seyton’s did 
not give it a smoother turn. 

As Mr. Seyton’s fences lmd been in a disgraceful condition tor at 
least as long’as Clieriton could remember, he was well aware that 
the present grievance was ouly an outlet for a deeper-sealed one, but 
his grandmother struck in— 

“ Ah, Cheriton may sec what it is to take to bad ways and bad 
connections, I’ve been telling him his half-brother is likely enough 
to make friends with the Seytons, and bring their doings over lieie. 

“ With a couple of boys younger than Jack,” cried Cheriton. 
“ Any one would think, granny, that we had a deadly feud with 

the Seytons.” , . 

“ ]’ii not hear the matter discussed ” loudly interposed Mr. Les- 
ter. “ Hold your tongue, Cherry. Alvar will have to mind what 
he is about. I’m sick of the sound of his name. If he had a good 
English one of his own it would be something.” 

Why hasn’t he, then?” was on the tip of Cherry s tongue, but 
he suppressed it; aud as liis grandmother walked away, saying that 
it was time to diess lor dinner, he got up and stood near his father; 

“ I say, dad, never mind; we’ll get along somehow,” he said. 

The expression of passionate irritation passsd out of Mr. Lester's 
face, and was succeeded by a look of regretful affection as he put 
his hand on his favorite son’s shoulder. 

“ I’d give half I’m worth, my boy, to undo it. It’s a wrong to 


20 


AN. ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


you, Cherry — a wrong. It gives me no pleasure to think of the 
place in his hands after I’m gone.” 

“Father,” interposed Cheriton firmly, “the only wrong is in 
speaking of it so. It is no wrong to any of us. And you know,” 
he added shyly and under his breath, “ mamma would never let us 
think so.” 

Mr. Lester was a person who would not endure a touch on his 
tenderest feelings. He had never mentioned the young wife, whose 
word had been his law, to the son whom he adored for her sake, 
and who influenced his violent yet impressionable nature by the in- 
heritance of hers. That influence led him to listen to the words 
.which he could not controvert; but he did not love his unknown son 
the better for the pain which this defense of him had cost him. 
Cheriton feit that he had ventured almost too far, and he turned off 
the subject after a pause, by saying quaintly— 

“ 1 wonder what the fox thinks of it all?” 

“ What d’ye mean?” 

“ Don’t you remember that old lady who came to see granny 
once, and when Jack and I raved about a day’s hunting, would say 
nothing but ‘ 1 wonder what the fox thinks of it all?’ That was 
making the other side much too important, wasn’t it?” 

“ Ah, you’re ready with your jokes,” said his father, not wishing 
to follow out the little fable, but with a daily sepse of liking tor the 
voice and smile with which it was uttered. “ Come, I’ll have a pipe 
with you before dinner.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

STRANGERS YET! 

“ My mother came from Spain . . 

And I am Spanish in myself 
And in my likings . 11 

It was late on the afternoon of Christmas-eve. The hall at Oak- 
by was full of branches of holly and ivy. Nettie, perched on the 
top of an oak cabinet, was sticking sprays into the frame of her grand- 
father’s picture, and Jack and Bob were arranging, according to 
time-honored custom, a great bunch of bright-berried holly over the 
mantel-piece, to do which in safety was a work unattainable by fem- 
inine petticoats. 

“ It’s a great shame of Cherry not to come in time to help,” said 
Nettie. 

“ They’ll have got hold of him down at the church,” said Jack. 
“ There, that’s first-rate.” 

“ I sa 3 r , Jack, do you know Virginia Seyton came home yesterday? 
Isn’t it funny that they should have one too?” 

“ One what?” 

“ Why, a relation, a sister, when we’ve got a brother. I won- 
der—” 

Suddenly Nettie stopped, as a crash of wheels sounded on the 
frosty gravel, and the front dooi bell pealed loudly. 

“Oh, Jack!” and Nettie jumped off the cabinet at one bound. 


AST ENGLISH SQUIKE. 21 

six feet high though it was, and caught hold of the end of Jack’s 
coat in a perfect agony of shyness. “ Oh, let’s run aAvay!” 

“Let go. 1 can’t get down. Standstill and don’t be silly, ” said 
Jack, gruffly, as he got off the steps, while the butler hurried for- 
ward and threw open the door. Nettie stood in the fire-light, her 
golden hair flying in the gust of wind, her hands together, like a 
wild thing at bay. Bob remained perched halfway up the ladder, 
and Jack made a step or two forward. 

A tall figure in a dark cloak, with bright crimson lining, and a 
large felt hat, stood in the door- way. 

Are you Cheriton?” he said eagerly, and with a strong foreign 
accent. 

“ Iso; he’s out. I’m Jack. How d’ye do? We didn’t know 
when you were coming,” said Jack, in a tone from which embar- 
rassment took every shade of cordiality. He put out his hand quick- 
ly, however, as the stranger made a movement as if possibly intend- 
ing a more tender salutation. Alvar tooiv it, then removed his hat, 
and advancing toward the speechless Nettie, said — 

“ This is myr sister? May 1 not salute her?” and lightly touched 
her cheek with his lips. “ I have thought of you, my sister,” he 
said. 

“ Have you?” stammered Nettie, hanging down her head like a 
child. Bob remained motionless on his ladder, and Jack said — 

“ Here’s my father,” as Mr. Lester came hurriedly into the hall, 
nearly as much embarrassed as his children, and pale with an agi- 
tation which they did not share. Alvar turned round, and bowed 
low with a respectful grace that his brothers certainly could not 
have imitated. 

Mr. Lester came forward and held out his hand. It needed all 
his innate sense of good breeding to overcome the repulsion which 
the very idea of his strange son caused him. The sense of owing 
him amends for long-neglecled duty, the knowledge how utterly out 
of place this foreigner must be as heir of Oakby, the feeling that by^ 
so recognizing him he was wronging alike his forefathers and his 
other children, while he yet knew how much his whole life through 
lie had wronged Alvar himself, came upon him with renewed force. 
Then as he heard such tones, and saw such a face as he had not 
seen for years, what rush of long-past sentiment, what dead and 
1/uried love and hate came rushing over him with such agitating 
force, that in the effort to avoid a scene, and a display of feeling 
which, yielded to, might have smoothed the relations between them 
forever, his greeting to his son was as cold as ice! 

“ How do you do, Alvar? 1 am glad to see you. We did not 
expect you so soon. Aou must have found your journey very cold.” 

“ I did not delay. It was my wish to see my father,” said Alvar, 
a little wistfully. “ My father, I trust, will find me a dutiful son.” 

Here Bob giggied, and Jack nearly knocked him off the ladder with 
the nudge evoked by his greater sense of propriety. 

” No doubt — no doubt,” said Mr. Lester. “ 1 hope we shall un- 
derstand each other soon. Where’s Cheriton? Jack, suppose you 
show — him — your brother, his room. Dinner at seven, you know. 
1 dare say you’re hungry.” 

“ 1 did take a cup of coffee, but it was not good,” said Alvar, as 


22 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

lie followed Jack upstairs; and the latter, mortally afraid of a tete-a- 
tete, shut him into the bedroom prepared for him, and rushed down- 
stairs to encounter Cherilon, who came hurrying in, thinking him- 
self late for dinner. 

“ Cherry, lie’s come!” 

“ Oh, Cherry, he’s so queer! He makes pretty speeches, and he 
bows!” 

” He’s a regular nigger, he’s so black!” 

” Oh, Cherry, it’s awful /” 

“ What have y*)u done with him? Where’s the squire?” said 
Cherry, as soon as he could make himself heard. 

“ Oh, papa has seen him, and Jack’s taken him into his room,” 
said Nettie. 

“ He thought 1 was you,” Said Jack. 

Cheriton stood still for a moment, as shy as the rest, then, with an 
effort, he ran upstairs. 

“It’s only kind to go and say how d’ye do to a fellow,” lie 
thought, as he tapped at the bedroom door, and entered with out- 
stretched hand, and blushing to the tips of his ears. “ Oh, how 
d’ye do? I’m so sorry ] was out ol the way; they kept me to nail 
up the wreaths. I’m very glad to see you. Aren't you very cold?” 

Probably the foreigner understood about half of this lucid and 
connected greeting; but something in the warmth of the tone made 
him come forward eagerly. 

r Yon are then really my brother Cherilon? 1 thought it was 
again the other one.” 

“ What, Jack? Yes, we’re thought alike, 1 believe.” 

” I do not see that,” said Alvar, contemplatingliiin gravely; “ but 
1 have known you in my thoughts— always.” 

“ I’m sure— we’ve all thought a great deal about you. Butthere’a 
no one to help you. Have you got your things? I’ll ring,” nearly 
pull in <r down the bell-rope. “And, look here, I’ll just dress and 
come back, and go down with you— shall 1?” 

Clieriton’s summons was rapidly answered, as curiosity inspired 
the servants as well as their masters; and leaving Alvar to make his 
toilet, he hastened upstairs. The three brothers slept in a long 
passage at the top of the house, over the drawing-room. As Cher- 
ry’s step sounded, both his brothers’ doors burst open simultane- 
ously, and Jack and Bob, in various stages of diessing, at once eiac 
ulateef — 

“ Well?* 

” How can 1 tell? It’s awfully late. I shall never be ready,” 
and Cheiry banged liis own door, too much astounded by the new 
brother to stand a*discussion on him. 

As soon as lie was ready he went down-stairs, and found Alvar, 
rather to his relief, attired in correct evening costume. 

“ 1 suppose you haven’t seen my grandmother yet?” he said. 

" Your grandmother? 1 did not know there was a grandmother,” 
said Alvar, m a much puzzled voice, which, together with the sense 
of how much his brother had to leatn, nearly upset Cherry’s gravity. 

“ My father’s mother, you know. She lives with us,” he said. 

“ She is your grandmother too.” 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 23 

“All!” said Alvar, “1 loved my grandmother much. This 
other one, she will be most venerable, 1 am sure.” 

“ Come along,. then,” said Cherry, unable to stand more conver- 
sation at present, 

Mrs. Lester, whatever her private opinions might be, had too 
much respect for the heir, for herself, and for the house of Lester, 
not to attire herself with unusual dignity, and to rise and advance to 
receive her grandson. 

“How do you do, Alvar?” she said. “ You have been a long 
time in coming to see us. ” 

Alvar, after a moment’s pause, as if doubtful what sort of salu- 
tation would be acceptable, bowed low and kissed her hand. Net- 
tie laughed; but her grandmother drew, herself up as it the act of 
homage was not altogether displeasing to her, and then looked keen- 
ly at the new- grandson, who, as far as looks went, was no unworthy 
scion of the handsome Lesters. 

He was as tall as his father, though of a different and slighter 
make, and stood with a sort of graceful stiffness, unlike the easy 
loose-limbed air of most young English srentlemen. He had a dark 
olive skin, and oval face; but his features were not unlike the pre- 
vailing family type; and though his hair was raven black, it grew 
and curled in the picturesque fashion of his father’s, which Cheri- 
ton alone of the other sons inherited. But he had the splendid black 
liquid eyes, with blue whites, and slender arched eyebrows of his 
Spanish mother, and possessed a picturesque foreign beauty that 
seemed to group the fair-haired brothers into a commonplace herd. 
He had a grave, impassive face, and held his head up with au air 
suggestive of Spanish grandees. 

It was veiy difficult to make conversation when they went in to 
dinner, the more so as Alvar evidently did not easily follow rapid 
English, and either he was bewildered by new T impressions, or not 
very open to them, for he had not mucli to say about liis journey. 
Cheriton, as he tried to talk as if there was no perplexing stranger 
piesent, could not help wondering whether all that was so strange 
to himself came with any familiarity to his father. Had he known 
what his son would be like? Could he touch any chord to which 
Alvar could find a response? Had eyes like those great rolling 
black ones ever looked love into liis own? And if so, wash all for- 
gotten, or was the remembrance distasteful? 

“ He was older than 1 am now,” thought Cherry. “ Surely the 
thoughts of to-day could never fade away entirely.” 

Mr. Lester uttered no word that betrayed any knowledge of his 
son's country. He spoke less than usual, and after due inquiries 
for Alvar’s relations, entirely on local matters; Alvar volunteered 
tew remarks, but as the dessert appeared, he turned to Cherry,, who 
sat beside him, and said — 

“ Is it not now the custom to smoke?” 

“ Not at dinner,” said Cherry, hurriedly, as his father replied — 

“Certainly not,” and all the bright blue eyes round the table 
stared at Alvar, who for the first time colored, and said— 

“ Pardon, 1 have transgressed.” 

“ We’ll go and have a pipe presently,” said Cherry; and oh! how 
ardently he longed tor that terrible evening to be over. 


24 


AN ENGLISH SQUIlli. 

“ It was a horrid Christmas-eve,” muttered Nettie to Bob; and 
perhaps her father thought so too, tor he rang the bell early tor 
prayers. 

“ What is this?” said Alvar, looking puzzled, as a prayer-book 
was placed before him. 

“We’re going to have prayers,” said Nettie, rather pertly. 
“Don’t you?” 

“ Ah, it is a custom,” said Alvar, and he took the book, and stood 
and knelt as they did, evidently watching for his cue. 

When this ceremony was over, Bob and Nettie rushed off, evi- 
dently to escape saying good-night, and Cheriton invited the stran- 
ger to come and smoke with him, conducting him to a little smok- 
mg-room down-stairs, which was only used for visitors, as the boys 
generally smoked in a room at the top of the house, into which 
Cherry knew Bob and Jack would greatly resent any intrusion. 
Mr. Lester walked off with a general good-night. Alvar watched 
Cherry kiss his grandmother, but contented himself with a bow. 
Jack discreetly retired, and when Cheriton had ascertained that Al- 
var never smoked a pipe, but only a cigar or a cigarette, and had 
made him sit down by the fire, Aivar said— 

“ My father is then a member of the clerical part}'?” 

“ 1 don’t think 1 quite understand you,” said Cherry. 

“ "Your prayers — he is religious?” 

“ Oh, most people have prayers— 1 don’t think we’re more par- 
ticular than others. My father and Mr. Ellesmere, our rector, are 
friends, naturally,” said Cherry, feeling it very difficult to explain 
himself. 

“ My grandfather,” said Alvar, “ is indifferent.” 

“ But — you’re a Protestant, aren’t you?” 

“ Oh, yes. 1 have been so instructed. But 1 do not interest my- 
self in the subject.” 

Cheriton had heard many odd tliihgs at Oxford said about re- 
ligion, but never auything to equal the naivete of this avowal. He 
was quite unprepared with a reply, and Alvar went on — 

“1 shall of course conform. I am not an infidel; but 1 leave 
those things to your — clergy, do you not call them?” 

“Well, some people would say you were right,” said Cherry, 
thankful that Jack was not present to assert the inalienable right of 
privste judgment. 

“And politics?” said Alvar; “I know about your Tories and 
your Whigs. On which side do you range yourself?” 

“Well, my father’s a Tory and High Churchman, which L sup- 
pose is what you mean by belonging to the clerical paity; and 1— if 
all places were like this — I’d like things very well as they are. Jack, 
however, would tell you we were going fast to destruction.” 

“ There are then dissensions among you?” 

“ Oh, he’ll come round to something, I dare say. But our English 
politics must seem mere child’s play to you.” 

“1 have taken no part,” said Alvar. “ My grandfather would 
conform to anything for peace, and 1, you know, "my brother, am in 
Spain an Englishman— though a Spaniard here.” 

“ 1 hope you’ll bdan Englishman soon.” 

“ It is the same with marriage,” said Alvar; “ 1 have never be- 


25 


AX ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

trothed 'myself, nor lias my grandfather sought to marry me. He 
said 1 must see English ladies also. One does not always follow the 
heart in these matters,” he concluded rather sentimentally. 

“No one would ever dream of your following anything else,” 
said Cherry, beginning gruffly, but half choked with amusement as 
he spoke. 

‘‘No? And you, you have not decided? Ah, you blush, my 
brother; I am indiscieet. ” 

“ 1 didn’t blush — at least that’s nothing. Turkey-cock was my 
nickname at school always,” said Cherry hastily. 

“ 1 do not understand,” said Alvar; and after Cherry had ex- 
plained the nature and character of turkey-cocks, he said, “ But 1 
think that was not civil.” 

“Civil! It wasn’t meant to be. English boys don’t stand much 
upon civility. But,” he added, as he knocked the ashes out of his 
pipe, “if we are rough. I hope you won’t mind; the boys don’t 
mean any harm by it. You’ll soon get used to our ways, and— 
and we’ll do our best to make you feel at home with us.” 

A sudden sense of pity for the lonely brother, a stranger in his 
father’s house, softened Cheriton ’s face and voice as he spoke, 
though he felt himself to be promising a good deal. 

Alvar looked at him with the curious, impassive, unembarrassed 
air that distinguished him. “You are not ‘rough!’” he said; 
“ you are my brother. 1 am told that here you do not embrace each 
other. I am an Englishman, 1 give you my hand.” 

Cheriton took the slender, oval-sliaped hand, which yet closed on 
his more angular one, with a firm, vigorous grasp. 

“All right,” he said; “you’d better asR me if you don’t know 
what to do. And now 1 think you must be tired. I’ll show you 
your room. 1 hope you won’t mind the cold much; 1 am sorry it’s 
so frosty.” 

“ Oh, the cold is absolutely detestable, but 1 am not tired,” said 
Alvar briskly. 

It was more than Cheriton could say, as he shut this perplexing 
brother into the best bedroom, which lie could not associate with 
anything but a state visit. He felt oppressed with a sense of past 
and future responsibility, of distaste which he knew was mild com- 
pared to what every other member of his family would experience, 
of contempt, and kindliness and pity, and, running through all, the 
exceeding ludicrousness, from an Oakby point of view, of some of 
Alvar’s remarks. 

This latter ingredient in his perplexity -was strengthened, when 
he got upstairs, by Jack, who, detecting his dispirited look, pro- 
ceeded to encourage him by remarking solemnly, — 

“ Well, 1 consider it a great family misfortune. Dispositions and 
habits that are entirely incongruous can’t be expected to agree.” 

“Do strut up. Jack; you’re not writing an essay. Now 1 see 
where Alvar’s turn for speechifying comes from; you get it some- 
how from the same stock! All I know is, it’s too bad to be down 
on a fellow when he’s cast on our hands like this. Now I am go- 
ing to bed, I’m tired to death; aucl if we’re late on Christmas morn- 
ing we shall never hear the last of it.” 

While the young brothers thus discussed this strange disturber of 


26 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

their accustomed life, their father’s thoughts were si ill more per- 
plexing. He had so long put aside the unwelcome thought of his 
eldest son that he felt inclined to regard his presence with incredul- 
ity. Surely this dark, stately stranger could have no concern with 
his beloved homestead with its surrounding moors and fells. This 
boy had never ridden by his side, nor taken his first shots fiom Ins 
gun, nor differed fiom him about t lie management of his estate. 

Oak by, with all its duties and pleasures, had no connection with 
him; and with Oakby Mr. Lester had for many years Jelt himself 
to be wholly identified. But those dark eyes, those slow, soft ac- 
cents, that air so strange to his sons, awoke memories of another 
self. He saw Clieriton’s puzzled attempt at understanding the 
strange brother. But this strange son was not strange to him. He 
knew the very turns of expression that Alvar’s imperfect English 
suggested. For the first time for years the Spanish idioms and 
Spanish words came back to his memory. He could have so talked 
as to set his son in accordance wit It his surroundings; he under- 
stood. to his own surprise, exactly where this very new shoe would 
pinch. 

But these memories, though fresh and living, were utterly dis- 
tasteful, and nothing that cost him pain awoke in Mr. Lester’s 
mind any answering tenderness. He was a man with a weak will, 
a careful conscience, and imperfectly controlled temper and affec- 
tions. 

lie much preferred to do right titan to do wrong, and he generally 
did do right; in this one crucial instance he had neglected and 
slurred over the right thing for years, and now he was not suffi- 
ciently accustomed to question himself to realize how far he could 
have made amends for past neglect, how far he could now make 
his son fit for the heirship of which he neither could nor would 
deprive him. No, Alvar was a painful sight to him; therefore lie 
would continue to ignore him as far as possible. He stood in the be- 
loved Clieriton ’s light, and therefore all the small difficulties that bis 
incongruous presence caused would be left to Clieriton to set to 
rights, or not be set to rights at all. 

It was pleasant, and it was not very difficult to Mr. Lester, as be 
woke in the light of the Christmas dawn, to turn his mind from, 
Alvar’s presence to the many duties that the season demanded of 
him. The children all woke up curious and half-unfriendly. 
Clieriton wondered what Alvar was thinking of. But they none of 
them knew to what thoughts or feelings the pealing, crashing 
Christmas bells awoke the unknown heir. 

Nay, you’ll know no more what lie’s after than if lie was yonder 
picture,” said the grandmother in answer to some remarks, and as 
Clieriton heard him coming down stairs he felt that this was exactly 
the state of the case. 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE SEYTONS OF ELDERTH WAITE. 

“ All things here are out of joint. 1 ” 

In the midst of a waste of unswept snow across the hill behind 
Oakby Hall, there was a large old house, originally of something 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 27 

the same squaTe and substantial type, but of more ambitious archi- 
tecture, for there were turrets ait the four corners, overgrown ancl 
almost borne down b} r enormous bushes ot ancestral ivy; while the 
great gates leading to the stables were of faucifui and beautiful 
ironwork, now broken aud falling into decay. Gieat tree-trunks 
lay here and there on undulating slopes, the shrubberies flung wild 
blanches over the low stone wall dividing them fiom the hark, 
where a gate swung weakly on its hinges. There were few. tall 
trees, but" here and there along the drive a solitary beech of great 
size find beauty suggested the course of an avenue once without its 
equal in the country round. An old man was iecbly sweeping 
away the snow in front of the house, and a gentleman stood smok- 
ing a cigar on the steps — a slenderly-made man, with a delicate, 
melancholy face, and a pointed gray beard, dressed in a shabby 
shooting-coat. His eyes turned from the slow old sweeper past the 
relics ot the avenue, to a ruinous-looking lodge, the chimneys ot 
which sent no smoke into the frosty air. 

Mr. Seyton of Elderthwaite was used to these signs ot adversity, 
but to-day he was struck by them anew, for he was wondering how 
they would look in the eyes ot a stranger., Oakbv, with its strict 
laws, its rough humors, its ready-made life, would be a s> range ex- 
perience to its foreign heir. Wlmt would Elderthwaite, with ruined 
fortunes and blighted reputation be to a petted and prosperous girl, 
brought up by gentle, religious women, in all the proprieties and 
sociabilities of well to-do country villa life? What would his 
daughter say to the home she had left as a child, and had never 
seen since? 

The Seytons were a family of older standing in the county than 
the Lesters, and had once been ot superior fortune. At present their 
condition was, and rightly, very different. The Lesters, with many 
shortcomings, had been men who, on the whole, had endeavored to 
do their duty in their station, and had governed their tenants, 
brought up their children, attended to public business, and managed 
their own affairs in an honest and right-minded, it not always in a 
very enlightened fashion. 

But the Seytons had had a bad name for generations. It is true 
that no tales of wild and picturesque wickedness wefe tokl of the 
present head of the house, such as had made his father’s name a 
by-word for harshness and violence, and for all manner ot evil 
living; but the family traditions were strong against him; he in- 
herited debt and a dishonored name, and, alas! with them the 
tendencies and temptations that had brought them about. He had 
looked with bitter, injured eyes at the timber that was sold for Ids 
father’s gaming debts; but many a noble tree fell to pay his own, 
before he married a girl, innocent, high-minded, -and passionate- 
tempered. 

It w r as a very unhappy marriage, and Mr. Seyton never forgave 
his wife for her broken heart, nor himself for breaking it. When 
she died her relations took away her daughter, pledging lliemse ves 
to provide for her, if she were left undisturbed in their hands. The 
father had enough to do with his sons. The eldest, Boland, was a 
fine, handsome fellow, and began life with the sad disadvantage of 


28 


AH ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


being expected to go wrong. He got a commission, but during the 
short intervals that he spent at home, was personally unpopular. 

In one of these he took a great fancy to Cheriton Lester during an 
interval between the latter’s school and college life, and Cheriton 
being w T arned against him as a bad companion, stuck to him with 
equal perverseness and generosity. Roland was much the elder of 
the two, but Cherry’s vigorous youth took the lead in the friend- 
ship, and gave it his own impress. It was ended by such a scandal 
in Elderthwaite village as those which had made the name of 
Roland Sey ton’s grandfather hated by all the country round, as one 
by whom no man’s hearth was respected, and with whom no man’s 
daughter was safe. 

The discovery shocked Cheriton unspeakably: all the parties con- 
cerned were well known to him, and he felt that of such sins he 
could never think or speak lightly. But he would not join in loud 
or careless blame of his friend, who perhaps felt his truest pang of 
repentance at the boy’s confused miserable face in the one parting 
interview allowed by Mr. Lester before Roland joined his regiment, 
about to sail for India. 

“ You need not have been afraid, sir,” Roland said, when ac- 
cused of having set him a bad example; “ 1 knew how to choose 
my confidant. ” 

After Ronald’s departure, other tales to his discredit, and debts 
which it was impossible to pay, came to his father’s ears, and these 
additional troubles helped to strengthen habits of self-indulgence 
already formed, which had made Mr. Sey ton a man old before his 
time, meiancholy-faced and gentle- mannered, whom nobody re- 
spected and nobody disliked. But the two younger boys had a bad 
start in life, and seemed little likely to redeem the family fortunes. 

It was not often that Mr. Seyton thought of anything but the im- 
mediate dullness and discomfort of the hour, or of its small allevia- 
tions; but to-day these recollections pressed on him. He thought, 
too, of his shabby furniture, and his ill-conducted household; how 
unfit a home for his well-dowered daughter; how unlike both her 
aunt’s house and the pleasant foreign tour which, since her aunt’s 
death, she had been enjoying. 

“ Papa, papa!” cried a bright voice behind him. “ Good-morn- 
ing,” then as he turned round, the newly-arrived daughter ex- 
claimed, throwing her arms round his neck, “ Oh, how nice it is to 
say * Good -morning, papa!’ ” 

She was a fair creature enough, a true Seyton, with slender frame 
and pointed chin, creamy complexion and rich brown hair, but the 
large, round eyes, tender, intense, and full of life, were her mother’s, 
though clear and untroubled as the mother’s had never been. 

“ So you are glad to come home, Virginia?” said her father, 
rather sadly. 

“Yes, papa, lam just delighted. 1 always made stories about 
home when 1 was at Littleton. I was very happy, you know, 
with dear Aunt Mary and all my friends; but it was so uninteresting 
not to know more of my very nearest relations.” 

“ You will findit very different, my dear, from what you are ac- 
customed to. This is a dull place.” 


A'N ENGLISH SQUIRE. 29 

“ Oh, papa, I think it is so silly to be dull! I shall he quite ready 
to like anything you wish,” said Virginia warmly. 

My dear, you shall take your own way. it would be hard at 
least if 1 could not give you that,’ 7 said Mr. Seyton, looking at her 
as if he did not quite know what to do with this gayly-dressed, 
frank -spoken daughter. “ Now let us come to breakfast.” 

“lam afraid 1 am late,” said Virginia; “ but it is never easy to 
be in time after a journey.” 

“ You are punctual for this house, my dear; we take such things 
easy. But your aunt is down, jmu see, in your honor.” As Mr. 
Seyton spoke they came into the dining-room, a long, low room, 
with treasures of curious carving round its oak panels, hardly 
visible in its imperfect light. 

A lady sat pouring out the tea. She had the delicate features and 
peculiar complexion of her family, but her eyes, instead of being 
like Mr. Seyton’s, vague and sad, were sharp and sarcastic; she 
had more play of feature, and, though she looked fully her age, 
had the air of having been a beauty. 

Miss Seyton had once been engaged to be married, but her engage- 
ment had been broken oft in one of the storms of discreditable 
trouble that, had overwhelmed her father and brothers, no one knew 
exactly how or why. She had never married, and had lived ever 
since with her brother, not always without scandal and remark. 
Still her presence had kept Elderthwaite on the visiting-list of the 
county, and made it possible for her niece to live there. 

In spite of her sharp, eager eyes, she had an indescribable laziness 
and nonchalance of manner, and poured out the tea as if it was an 
effort beyond her. The boys’ places remained vacant. There was 
a little talk at breakfast-time, but it did not flow easily. Virginia 
would have had plenty to say, but she had a sense that what she 
did say caused her aunt inward surprise or amusement, and she be- 
gan to feel shy. 

When the meal was over, Mr. Leyton sauntered away slowly, and 
Virginia said, “ Do we sit in the drawing-room in the morning. 
Aunt Julia?” 

*' Yes, as often as not,” said Miss Seyton. “You are welcome 
to arrange all such matters for yourself. Girls have ways of their 
own.” 

“ I don’t want to have any strange or uncomfortable ways, 
auntie,” said Virginia; “ I want to feel quite at home, and to be' 
useful.” 

” Useful!” said Miss Seyton. “ What’s your notion of being use- 

She did not speak unkindly, but with a curious sort of inward 
amusement, as if the notions of the bright-eyed girl were an odd 
study to her. 

” i’m afraid 1 haven’t very clear notions. 1 want to make it 
cheerful for papa — Aunt Mary always said he wasn’t strong or well; 
and perhaps the boys want things done for them; my friends’ broth- 
ers always did,” said Virginia, a little pathetically. 

“ There’s. one thing, my dear. 1 wish you t to understand at once. 
1 shall never interfere with you; but 1 don't mean to abdicate in 


30 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

your favor. 1 keep house— whatever house is kept— and you’d bet- 
ter shut your eyes and ears to it. It isn’t work for you.” 

“ Oh, Aunt Julia!” said Virginia, distressed, “ 1 would not think 
of such a thing. It is your place.” 

‘‘No, my dear, its not; but I mean to stick to it,” interposed 
Miss Seyton. 

“ And 1 know nothing about housekeeping, lm afraid. 1 should 
be very extravagant.” 

” Like a true" Seyton. So much for that, then. And now an- 
other thing. Don’t you ever give your brothers so minli as a half- 
sovereign secretly. You have money, and they know it, and it’s 
scarce here. Mind what I say.” 

xV kind of puzzled sense of something that she did not under- 
stand crossed Virginia’s face. 

“ 1 would rather give them things than money,” she said. “ Of 
course papa lets them have what is right.” 

“ Of course,” said Miss Seyton, with the same perplexing expres- 
sion of indescribable amusement. 

A good joke had for years been the solace, a bitter sarcasm the 
natural outlet, of a life which certainly had been neither prosperous 
nor happy in itself, nor glorified by any martyrdom of self-denial. 

Miss Seyton was full of malice, both in the French and English 
acceptations of the word. She loved fun, and die could not see 
without bitterness the young, unworn creature beside her. To as- 
tonish Virginia offered an almost irresistible temptation to both these 
tendencies. Her evident unconsciousness of the life that lay before 
her, was at once so funny, and such a cruel satire on them all. 

“ So you built castles in the air about your relations?” she 
said, with an odd longing to knock some of these castles down. 

‘‘Sometimes,” said Virginia; ‘‘then Ruth told me about you; 
and two years ago she and I met Cheriton Lester and his cousin 
Rupert in London, and. I used to talk to them. Cheriton made me 
■wish to come home very much.” 

“ Why?” said Miss Seyton ah or tly. • 

“ Re used to tell her about the place, and he made me remember 
much better what it was like.” 

” Cheriton will have to play second fiddle. The eldest brother is 
coming back from Spain.” 

“ Ah, I remember, he told us how much he wished it. Oh and 
lie told me Uncle James * wasn’t half a bad fellow/ I suppose that 
was a boy’s way of saying he was very nice indeed. Pei haps Lean 
help him, too, in the village. 1 like school teaching, and 1 sup- 
pose there aren’t many young ladies in Elderthwaite?” 

” You yttle innocent!” exclaimed Miss Seyton. Then, moving 
away, she said, in the same wicked undeitone, “ Well, you had bc£ 
ter ask him.” 

Virginia remained standing by the fire. She felt ruffled, for she 
knew herself to be laughed at, and not having the clew to her mint’s 
meaning, she fancied that her free-and easy mention of Cheriton 
had elicited the remark and being a young lady of decided opinions 
&i)d somewhat warm temper, made up her mind silently, but with 
energy, that she would never like her Aunt Julia,. never! She had 
been taken away from home when only eleven years old, and since 


AZtsT ENGLISH SQUIRE. 31 

then had only occasionally seen her father and her brothers. Her 
cousin Ruth, who had frequently stayed at Elderlh waite, had never 
bestowed on her much definite information; and perhaps the season 
in London and the renewal of her childish acquaintance witn Cheri- 
ton Lester had done more than anything else to revive old impres- 
sions. 

She had /been most carefully brought up by her aunt, Lady Hamp- 
ton, with every advantage of education and influence. Companions 
and books were all carefully chosen, and her aunt hoped to see her 
married before there was any chance of her returning to Elder- 
thwaite. But such was the dread of the reckless, defiant, Sey ton 
nature, that her very precautions defeated their wishes. 

\ irginia never was allowed to be intimate with any young man 
but Cheriton, who at the time of their meeting was a mere boy, and 
with thoughts turned in another direction; and though Virginia 
was sufficiently susceptible, with a nature at once impe tuous and de- 
pendent, she came home at one-and-twenty, never yet having seen 
her ideal in flesh and blood. 

“ Duties enough, and little cares, ” had filled her girlhood, and 
delightful girl friendships and girl reverences had occupied her 
heart; while her time had been filled by her studies, tlie cheerful 
gayeties of a lively neighborhood, and by the innumerable claims of 
a church and parish completely organized and vigorously" worked. 

Lady Hampton was one of the Ladies Bountiful of Littleton; and 
Virginia had taught in the schools, made tea at the treats, worked 
at church decorations, and made herself useful and important in all 
the ways usual to a clever, warm-hearted girl under such influences. 
And with the same passionate fervor of nature, and the same neces- 
sity to her life of an approving conscience, which had made her 
n?other s heart beat itself to death against the bars of her unsatisfy- 
ing home, Virginia's nature- bad flowed on in perfect tune with her 
surroundings; till, when she was nearly twenty, came the great 
grief of her kind aunt’s death, leaving her heiress to a moderate fort- 
une. By the terms of the will she was to travel under carefully 
selected guardianship till she was of age, and then to choose whether 
she would go home to her father, or have a home made for her afc 
Littleton. 

Virginia chose promptly, and then, in the delicate, indefinite lan- 
guage of those who fear to do harm by every word, was warned of 
difficulties. Much would be painful to her, much would be strange; 
her home was not like anything she had been used to. She listened 
and looked sad, and understood nothing of what they meant to 
imply; and thus ready to admire, but with only one type in her 
mind of what was admirable; full of love, but with none of the 
blinding softening memories that make love easy, she came to a 
home where admiration was impossible, and Jove would demand 
either ignorant indifference to any high ideal, or a rare and perfect 
charity, alike unknowm to a high-minded intolerant girl. 


B2 


A!N T ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER VI. 

VIRGINIA. 

“ A sense of mystery her spirit daunted.” 

The vicar ot Elaerth waite was Mr. Seyton’s youngest brother. 
There had been one between them, the father of the Ruth mentioned 
in the last chapter, but he had married well, and died early, leaving 
this one girl, who lived with her grandmother, and paid occasional 
visits to Elderthwaite. 

James Seyton had been the wildest of the three, and had taken 
orders to pay his debts by means of the family living, the revenues 
of which he had never fully enjoyed. He had never married, and 
bis life— though just kept in bounds by the times in which he lived, 
so that he did not get tipsy in the Seyton Arms, nor openly scan- 
dalize a parish with so low a standard of right as Elderthwaite'— fv as 
a thoroughly self-indulgent one. He read the service once on Sun- 
days, and administered the Communion three times ayear, while the 
delay and neglect of funerals, marriages, and baptisms were the 
scandal of every parish round. He rarely visited liis flock; and yet 
the vicar was not wholly an unpopular man. He was good-nat- 
ured, and though he drank freely and sometimes swore loudly, lie 
had a certain amount of secular intercourse with his parishioners of 
a not unneighborly kind. 

The pressure of poverty made Mr. Seyton a hard landlord, and 
between oppression and neglect the inhabitants of the picturesque 
tumble-down village were a bad lot, and neither squire nor parson 
did much to make them better. But their vicar now and then did 
put before the worst offenders the. consequences of an evil life in 
language plain enough to reach their understanding; and he had a 
word and a laugh for most of them. 

Mr. Lester was frequently heard to inveigh against Parson Sey- 
ton’s short-comings, and seriously, as well he might, regretted the 
state of Elderthwaite parish; but Mr. Seyton doctored all Lis horses 
and dogs when they were ill, and was, “ after all, an old neighbor 
and a gentlefnan.” He taught Cherry to catch rats, and took him 
out otter-hunting, and there was the oddest friendship between 
them, which Cherry, when a bo} r , had once exemplified in the fol- 
lowing manner: — 

The bishop had paid an unexpected visit at Oakby, and Cheriton 
following in the wake, while his father and Mr. Ellesmere were 
showing off their new. schools, heard him express his intention of_ 
going on to Elderthwaite; upon which Cherry ran full speed across 
the fields, found Parson Seyton shooting rabbits, decidedly in shoot 
ing costume, gave him timely warning, "and, with his own hands so 
tidied, dusted, and furbished up the wretched old church, that its 
vicar, entering into the spirit of the thing, fell to with a will, aston- 
ished the lazy blind old sexton, and produced such a result as might 
pass muster in a necessarily lenient north-country diocese. 

Cherry then diffident]}' 1 produced one of his father’s white ties 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


.33 


which he had put in his pocket, “ thinking you mightn’t have one 
clean,” and as the old vicar, with a shout of laughter, arrayed him- 
self in it, he said — 

“ Ay, ay, my lad, between this and the glass of port I’ll give his 
lordship (he won’t better that in any parish), we’ll push through.” 

And so they did. 

Parson Seyton was a man, if an erring one; but the mischief with 
his youug nephews was that they seemed to have no force or energy 
even for being naughty, and as they grew up their scrapes were all 
those of idle self-indulgence, save when the hereditary passion for 
gambling broke out in Dick, the elder of the two, as had been the 
case lately, causing his removal from the tutor with whom he had 
been placed. Like their father, they had not strong health, and they 
had little taste for field-sports, and" none for books; they lay in bed 
half the day, lounged about the stables, and quarreled with each 
other. But then their father had nothing to do, read little but the 
paper, and drank a great deal more wine than was good for him. 

Their uncle had conferred on them in his time the inestimable 
advantage of one or two good thrashings, and had scant patience 
with a kind of evil to which his burly figure, jolly red face, and 
hearty reckless temper had never been inclined. 

Virginia bad thought a good deal about her uncle, and was not 
unprepared to find him very far removed from the clerical ideal to 
which she was accustomed. Perhaps the notion of bringing a little 
enlightenment to so ” old-fashioned ” a place was neither absent 
nor unwelcome, as she thought of offering to teach the choir, and 
wondered who was feminine head of the parish. 

“ 1 dare say Uncle James has some nice old housekeeper,” she 
thought, “who trots alter the poor people, and takes them jelly, 
and perhaps teaches the children sewing. There must be a great 
many people here who remember mamma. I hope they will like 
me. It will be a much more real thing trying to be helpful here 
than at Littleton, where there were six people for each bit of work.” 

Virginia, finding that her brothers did not appear, begau to revive 
her childish recollections by going over the. bouse. It was very 
large and rambling, with long unused passages, with all the rooms 
shut up Windows overgrown with interlacing ivy, panels from 
which the paint dropped at a touch, queer little turret chambers, 
with rickety staircases leading up to them, seemed hardly objection- 
able to Virginia, who liked the romance of the old forlorn house, 
and bad not yet tried living in it. Yet it was not romantic, for 
E.derthwaite was not ruinous, only very dirty and out of repair; 
and perhaps the untidy housemaid, whom Virginia had encount- 
ered, was really more in accordance with its condition than the 
white lady or armed specter that she gayly thought ought to walk 
those lonely passages. Her own young smiling face, and warm 
ruby-colored dress, were in more startling contrast than either. So 
apparently thought her brother Dick as he ran up against her on the 
stairs • 

“ Hallo, Virginia!” he exclaimed in astonished accents. “ What 
are vou doing up here?” 

“ Trying tp remember my way about. Don't we keep any ghosts. 


34 • AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

Dick? I’m sure they would fiud these dark corners exactly suited 
to them.” N > 

“ Better ask old Kitty; she’ll tell you all about them. Good-by, 
I’m oil,” and Dick clattered down-stairs, rather to Virginia’s dis- 
appointment, for she had thought the night before that his delicate, 
handsome lace was more prepossessing than the pale stout one of 
Harry who uow joined her. 

“ Where is Dick going?” she asked. 

“ Don’t know, I’m sure,” said Harry. “ Do you want to know 
all the old stories?” 

41 Yes! can you tell me?” 

“ Do you see that room there?” said Harry, with eyes that 
twinkled like his aunt’s; f ‘ old Grandfather Seyton was an old rip, you 
know, if ever there was one, and he and hi 3 irieuds used to make 
such a row you heard them over at Oakby. His brother was parson 
then, and bless you! Uncle Jem’s a bishop to him. Well, he’d 
got a dozen men dining here, and they all got as drunk as owls, 
dead drunk every one of them, and the servants put them to bed 
up in this gallery. One ol them was in the room next. grand- 
father’s, that room there, and he was found dead the next morning. 
Fact, I assuie you. ” 

“ What a horrid story!” said Virginia, looking shocked. 

“ I’ll tell you another. Grandfather and his brother played aw- 
fully high, that’s how the avenue was cut down; and when they 
could get no one else they played with eadli other, and one night 
they quarreled and seized each other by the throats, and they both 
would have been strangled, only grandmamma rushed in in her 
night-gown screaming, and parted them; but the parson had the 
marks on his throat forever.” 

‘‘Harry! you naughty boy!” exclaimed Virginia, laughing. 
“ You are inventing all these frightful stories. 1 don’t believe 
them.” 

“ They’re as true as gospel,” said Harry, looking at her bright, 
incredulous eyes. “There’s another about the parson— how he 
came through the park at sunrise. That’s not a pretty story ^to tell 
you, though.” 

“ I had much rather hear something about the parson, as you call 
him, nowadays. Come down stairs, it’s so cold here, and answer all 
my questions.” 

“ Oh, the parson’s a jolly old card,” said Harry, following her. 
“ lie’s just mad with Dick because he won’t hunt. He’s been in 
at the death at every meet round, and don’t he swear when any one 
rides over the dogs, that’s alll” * 

Virginia began to think Elderthwaite must be very old-fashioned 
indeed. 

Doesu’t Dick like hunting?” she said. 

“ No, Dick takes after the governor. It’s cards thal’ll send him 
to the devil, and the first Seyton he’ll be that’s not worth having, 
says Uncle James.” 

Harry talked in a low, solemn voice, with the same odd twinkle 
in his eyes, and it was very difficult to say whether it was wicked 
mischief, or a sort of shameless naivete , that made him so commu- 
nicative. 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 35 

Virginia still strongly suspected him ot a desire to astonish her; 
but his last speech gave her a strange new pang, and slie turned 
away to safer subjects. 

“ I suppose the Lester boys are friends of yours?” 

“ Well, that’s as may be. We’re such a bad lot, you see, that 
Bob's never allowed to come here. There was a row once, and old 
Lester, a humbugging chap, just interfered. Jack’s such a con- 
founded prig he wouldn’t touch us with a pair of tongs.” 

“ And Cheriton, of course, is loo old for you.” 

“ Cherry! oh, he isn’t a bad fellow. 1 go over to dak by some- 
times when he's there. But it’s a slow place, and old Lester keeps 
them veiy tight. And then he’s always humbugging after his 
schools and things. Writing to my father about the state of the 
village. As it it was his aftair!” said Harry, in a tone of virtuous 
indignation. 

“ Doesn’t papa approve of education?” said Virginia. 

“ Bless 5 r ou, he don’t trouble his head about it. Why should he? 
Teach a lot of poaching vagabonds to read and write!” 

“ But Uncle James — ” 

“ Oh, Uncle James,” said Harry, with a spice of mimicry, “ he 
likes his glass of grog and his ferrets too well to put himself out of 
the way. By Jove, here’s Aunt Julia! 1 shall be off before I’m 
asked what has become of Dick.” 

Virginia sat still where he had left her. She only half believed 
him, and strange to say there was something so comical in his man- 
ner that she was rather attracted by its cool sauciness. But she was 
frightened and perplexed. What sort ot a world w T as this into which 
she had com.e? Those stories, even if true, happened a long time 
ago; Harry must be in joke about Dick, and everjdhing was ^differ- 
ent nowadays. 

It w T as true. The golden age, if such an expression can be per- 
mitted, ot Seyton wickedness had passed away; and these were 
smaller times, times of neglect, mismanagement, and low poor liv- 
ing, the dreary dregs of a cup long since drained. Nobody could 
quote Mr. Seyton as a monster ot wickedness, because he dawdled 
away his time over his sherry, and knew no excitement but an oc- 
casional game of cards at not very high stakes. There was many 
another youth in Westmoreland who gambled and played billiards 
in low company like Dick, and some ladies, perhaps, who found 
all their excitement in the memory of other times, and troubled 
themselves as little over any question of conscience as Miss Seyton. 

But it was not all at once that this absence of all that makes life 
worth living could be apparent, and Virginia found her first confir- 
mation of Harry’s words as she walked through the village on 
Christmas morning, and noted the wild, untidy look of the people, 
and the wretched state of their houses, and observed the sullen look 
of their faces as her father passed. Dick did not appear at all; 
Harry audioly “ supposed the governor was going to church because 
Virginia was there,” and certainly church-going did not appear to 
be a fashion of the village. 

Neither her childish recollections, nor Harry’s remarks, had pre- 
pared her, as thd$ r came into the small, iVy-grown church, tor 
broken floors, cracked windows and damp fustiness; still less for 


36 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

tlie very scantiest of congregations, and a rustling silence where re- 
sponses should have been. Her unde read the service rapidly, 
with the bioad northern accent now strange to her ears. The old 
clerk tiotted about whenever his services were not required, and did 
a little sweeping. Her uncle paused as he began the Litany, and 
called to him in a loud and cheerful voice to shut the door. 

Virginia peeped out between the laded green-baize curtains that, 
hanging round the great square pew, represented to her every 
Church principle she had been taught to condemn; and found her 
view obstructed by a large cobweb. Harry poked at the spider, and 
Virginia recalling her own attention from her despairing visions of 
having no better church than this, perceived that her father was- 
leaning idly back in his corner. All her standards of right and 
wrong seemed confused and shocked; so much so that, at the mo- 
ment, she hardly distinguished the pain of finding herself left alone 
after the sermon, and seeing her father turn away, from her horror 
at her uncle’s dirty surplice, and the dreary degradation of the 
whole place. When the parson came after her after service, and 
loudly told hei she was the prettiest lass he’d seen for long enough, 
kissing her under the church porch, she still felt as if the typical 
bad parish priest of her imagination had come to life, and behold, 
he was her own uncle! 

Since this comprehensible form of evil was so plain to her eyes, 
what terrible secrets might, not lurk behind it! Virginia felt as if 
she would never be light-hearted again. 


CHAPTER VII. 

FIRE AND SNOW. 

“ A northern Christmas, such as painters love. 

* * sH * # * * 

Red sun, blue sky, white snow, and pearled ice, 

Keen ringing air which sets the blood on fire.” 

Christmas is no doubt, theoretically, the right season for rela- 
tions who have been long parted to meet, and there was an ideal 
appropriateness in the long absent heir appearing at Oakby for the 
first time on Christmas-day. But practically it would have been 
better for Alvar, if he had come home at any oilier time of the year. 
In the first place the frost continued with unabated severity, and 
precluded every. outdoor amusement but skating, in which Alvar 
of course had no skill, and which he did not seem at all willing to 
learn. Besides, the season brought an amount of local and parish 
business which Mr. Lester attended to vigorously in person,. but the 
existence of which Alvar never seemed to realize. His . grand- 
mother’s charities he understood, and was rather amused at seeing 
the old women come to fetch their blankets aud cloaks; but what 
could he have to do with any of these people? 

Tenants’ dinners and choir-suppers might form a good opportu- 
nity for introducing him to his neighbors; and Cheriton, w T ho was 
the life and soul of such festivities, tried to put him forward; but. 
he only made magnificent silent bows, and comported himself much 


37 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRti. 

as his brother Jack had done, when in an access of gruff shyness 
and democratic ardor he had called the Christmas feasts “ relics of 
feudalism/' and had shown his advanced notions of the union of 
classes by never speaking a word to any one. • 

Between the new-comer and his father there was an impassable 
distance. Alvar never failed in courtesy; but Clieriton's quick eyes 
soon perceived that he resented deeply tlie long neglect; saw toe 
that the sight of him was a pain and distress to his father, sharp- 
ened his temper, and produced cons! ant rubs; though he was care- 
ful to do everything that the proper introduction of his son de- 
manded of him. A grand ball was organized in his honor, and also 
a stiff and ponderous dinner-party at which Alvar was to be intro- 
duced to the county magnates. 

Special invitations were also sent to him by their various neigh- 
bors, and he created quite an excitement in the dull country neigh- 
borhood. Mr. Lester only halt liked being congratulated on liis 
son’s charming foreign manhers; but still, as a novelty, Alvar had 
great attractions, and in society never seemed shy or at a loss. Mr. 
Lester’s brother-in-law, Judge Chcriton, invited the stranger to pay 
him a visit when the season had a little advanced, and to let him 
see a little London society; for which attention Mr. Lester, who 
hated London, was very grateful, as Alvar’s grandfather had Span- 
ish friends there, and it would have b^en too intolerable for the heir 
of Oakby to have appeared there under auspices which, however 
distinguished, Mr. Lester thought suitable only to a political refugee 
or a music-master. 

He had, w T hen he had ceased to pay for Alvar's English tutor,, 
made him an allowance which had been magnificent in Spain, and 
greatly added to Alvar’s consideration there, and he now increased 
this to what he considered a sufficient sum for his eldest son’s dig- 
nity. In short he did everything but overcome his personal distaste 
to him; he never willingly* spoke to him, and the very sight of him 
was an irritation to him. He got less too than usual of Clieriton’s 
company; their walks, and talks, and consultations were curtailed 
by Alvar’s requirements. Indeed, Cherry was pulled in many differ- 
ent directions, and he ended by sacrificing all the reading that was 
to have been got through during the vacation. For the home life 
was very difficult, and the more they saw of the stranger the less 
they liked him. 

' ‘He’s not of our sort,” said Bob, as if that settled Ihe matter, not 
perceiving that his slowness to receive impressions, and difficulty in 
accommodating himself to a new life, might spring as much from 
his Lester blood as from his Spanish breeding. 

“He might try and look like an Englishman,” growled Jack. 

” When you go to Spain, we shall see you in a sovibrero dancing 
under the orange-trees to a pair of castanets,” retorted Cheriton. 

“ We should alfbe so ready at foreign languages, and so accom- 
modating, shouldn’t we?” 

Alvar’s individuality was not to be ignored, Ihougli unfortunately 
it was very distasteful to his kindred. He was so dignified, so 
terribly polite, they were halt afraid of him, and as the awe wore off, 
they wanted to quarrel with him. He announced that he loved rid- 
ing, and seemed to know something of horses; he played billiards. 


38 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


much too well to be a pleasant opponent to his father, he sung much 
too quaintly and prettily tor his family to appreciate, and he played 
& guitar! Even Cheriton wished it had been a fiddle. He hated 
going to walk, smoked incessantly, and was indifferent to every one 
except Cheriton, to whom he deterred in everything. 

Poor Cheriton! “ Among the blind, -the one-eyed is king,” and 
his sentiments were amazingly liberal for Oakby; but he was very 
young, and deeply attached to his home and his surroundings, too 
tender-hearted not to be touched at Alvar’s preference, imaginative 
enough to realize his position, and yet repelled and put out of coun- 
tenance by his peculiarities. To be tenderly addressed as “ my 
brother,” “ mi caro,” “ mi Cheriton,” “ Cherito mio,” to be de- 
ferred to on all occasions, and even told in the hearing of Jack and 
Bob “ that his eyes when he laughed were the color of the Mediter- 
ranean on a sunny day,” was, as he said, ‘‘so out-facing, that it 
made him feel a perfect fool,” especially when his brothers echoed 
it at every turn. 

Yet he put up with it. It was so hard on the poor fellow if no 
one was kind to him ! So hard, he added to himself, to be an un- 
loved and unloving son. 

Perhaps, after all, Alvar’s essential strangeness prevented Cheriton 
from feeling himself put aside. 

Cheriton was very popular at school and at college. Hehadnstrong 
Intellectual ambitions, and though of less powerful mind than Jack, 
had attained to much graceful scholarship and possessed much com- 
mand of language. He hoped to take honors, to go to the bar, and 
distinguish himself there under his uncle, Judge Cberiton’s, auspices. 
He had, too, a further and a sweeter hope, hitherto confided to no 
one. 

But it was a certain “ genius for loving ” that really distinguished 
him from his fellows — really made him every one’s friend. He did 
not seek out his poorer neighbois so much from a sense of duty, as 
because his heart went out to every one belonging to Oakby, nay, 
every animal, every bit of ground — nothing was a trouble that con- 
duced to the welfare of the place. This loving-kindness was a nat- 
ural gift; but Cheriton made good use of it. He had high principles, 
and deep within his soul, struggling with the temptations of this 
ardent nature, were the pure aspirations and the capability of fervent 
piety which have made saints— responsibilities with which lie was 
born. 

But all this fire and force did not make tolerance easy; he was 
full of instiuctive prejudices, and perhaps his greatest aid in his deal- 
ings with bis new brother were bis joyous unchecked spirits and the 
keen sense of the ludicrous that enabled him to laugh at himself as 
well as at other people. 

Some little time after Alvar’s arrival there was a deep fall of snow, 
and while the pond was being swept for skating, the young Lesters, 
with Harry Sey ton and the children from the Rettory, who bad come 
up for the purpose, proceeded to erect a snow man of gigantic pro- 
portions in front of the house. 

‘‘ What a fright you have made of him!” said Cheriton, coming 
aip with Alvar, as they finished; “ he has no nose and no expres- 
sion. 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


39 * 


“ Well, come and do his nose, then; it keeps oncoming off,” said 
Nettie, who was standing on a bench to put the finishing touches. 

Cherry was nothing loath, and was soon engaged in molding the* 
snowy countenance with the skill of long practice, while Alvar* 
with his great crimson-lined cloak wrapped about him, stood look- 
ing on. 

“ Give him a good lumpy nose, that won’! melt,” said Cherry. 
‘‘ There, he’s lovely! got an old pipe foi him?” 

As he spoke a great snowball came stinging against his face, and 
in a moment, to the astonishment of Alvar, the whole party had set' 
on Cherry, and a wild bout of snow-balling ensued. 

“ No, no, that’s not fair! I can’t fight you all,” shouted Cherry; 
” and you’ve got all your snow-balls ready made. Give me the- 
girls, and then— come on.” 

“ Oh, yes, yes; we’ll be on Cherry's side,” cried Nettie. 

It was a picturesque scene enough — the pale-blue sky overhead* 
the dazzling snow under foot, the little girls in their scarlet cloaks 
or petticoats, their long hair flying as they darted in and out, the 
great boys struggling, wrestling, knocking each other about with 
small mercy. No one threw a snow-ball at Alvar; perhaps they had 
forgotten him, as he stood silently watching them as if they were a 
troop of Berserkers, till the contest terminated in a tremendous 
struggle between Cheriton and Jack, who were, of course, much 
the biggest of the party. Cherry was gettingdecidedly the worst of 
it, and either tripped in the rough snow or was thrown down fnto it? 
by Jack, when suddenly Alvar threw off his cloak, stepped forward, 
and seizing Jack by the shoulders, pulled him back with suddeit 
irresistible force. 

“ By Jove!” was all that Jack could utter. 

” What on earth did you do that for?” ejaculated Cherry, as soon 
as he gained his breath and his feet. 

“ He might have hurt you, my brother,” said Alvar, who looked 
flushed, and for once excited. ” And, besides, lam stronger than 
either of you. 1 could struggle with you both.” 

“ Hurt me? Suppose he had?” said Cherry disdainfully. “ But* 
Jack— Jack, I do believe you’re getting too many for me at last.” 

“ That is what you call athletics,” said Alvar, who looked un- 
usually bright. 

‘‘ Yes; wrestling is a regular north-country game, and the fellows 
about here have taught us all the tricks of it. Come, Jack, let us 
show him a bout.” 

The two brothers pulled off their coats, and set to with a will; and 
after a long struggle, and with considerable difficulty, Cheriton suc- 
ceeded in throwing Jack. 

‘‘There, I’ve done it once more!” he said breathlessly, “and I 
don’t suppose I shall ever do it again. l r ou’re getting much stronger 
than 1 am, and of course you’re heavier.” 

” Let me try to throw you down,” said Alvar eagerly. 

” Nay, Jack may have first turn; but it’s fair to tell you there’s 
a great deal of knack in it.” 

Alvar, however, was man instead of boy; he was quite as tall as 
Jack, and however he might have learned to exercise his muscles* 
his grasp was like steel; and though Jack’s superior skill triumphed. 


40 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

in the end, Alvar rose up cool and smiling, and Jack panted out, in 
iiaif-unwilling admiration — 

“ You’d beat us all with a little training.” 

“ Ah yes; that is because 1 am an Englishman,” said Alvar com- 
placently. ‘ But 1 bear no malice, Jack. It is in sport.” 

“ Of course,” said Jack. “ Now, Cherry, you try.” 

“It’s hardly fair in a biting frost,” said Cherry; “ nobody can 
-have any wind. However, here’s for the honor of Westmoreland.” 

The younger ones gathered round in an admiring circle, and 
Cheriton, who did not like to be beaten, put forth all the strength 
.and skill of which he was master. But he was the more slightly 
made, and had met his match, and to the extreme chagrin of his 
brothers and Nettie, sustained an entire defeat. 

“ Well, 1 never thought you would throw him," said Jack, in a 
Cone of deep disappointment. 

Ah,” said Alvar, “ they always called me the strong English- 
man.” 

“ Papa was the strongest man in Westmoreland,” said Nettie. 

“ Then,” said Alvar, “ so far 1 have proved myself his son, and 
your brother. 1 would not skate with you, for I should look like a 
fool; but I knew you could not easily throw me down, since that is 
your sport. But, my brother, I have hurt you.” 

“No,” said Cheriton, getting up, “ only knocked all the wind out 
of me, and made me look like a fool! Never mind, we shall under- 
stand each other all the better. Come upstairs, and we will show 
you some of the cups and things we have won in boat-races and 
athletics.” 

This was a clever stroke of 'Cheriton ’s; he wanted to make Alvar 
free of the premises, and had not yet found a good excuse. SO, leav- 
ing the younger ones to finish their snow- balling, he and Jack con- 
ducted Alvar up to the top of the house, where, at the end of the 
passage where they slept, was a curious low room, with a long, low 
window, looking west, above the west window of the drawing-room, 
and occupying nearly one side of the room, almost like the windows 
of the hand-loom weavers in the West Biding. 

There was a low seat underneath, broad enough to lie on, but 
furnished with very dilapidated cushions. There was a turning- 
lathe in the room, and a cupboard for guns, and sundry cases of 
stuffed birds, one table covered with tools, glue-pots, and messes of 
all descriptions; and another, it is but justice to add, supplied with 
ink, pens, and paper, and various formidable-looking books, for 
here the boys did their reading. There was a great, old-fashioned 
grate with a blazing tire in it, and very incongruous ornaments 
above it— a stuffed dormouse, Nettie’s property — she maintained a 
footing in the room by favor— various pipes, two china dogs, white, 
with brown spots in them, presented to Cherry in infancy by his 
nurse, and a wooden owl carved by their Cousin Rupert — a cousin in 
the second degree, wtio had been much with them owing to his 
father’s early death. On one side of the room were arranged on a 
sort of sideboard the cups and tankards which were the trophies of 
the brothers* prowess, and these were now each pointed out to 
Alvar, and the circumstances of their acquisition described. 
Cheriton ’s were few in proportion, and chiefly for leaping and 


ANT ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


41 


hurdle-racing; and Jack explained that Cherry’s forte was cricket, 
and that, since he had once knocked himself up at school by a 
tremendous flat-race, their father had greatly objected to his going 
into training. 

“ Oh, it’s not that,” said Cherry; “ he would not care now; but 
1 really haven’t time. 1 must grind pretty hard from now to mid- 
summei.” 

“There is one thing 1 have read of,” snid Alvar, “ in English 
newspapers. It is a race of boats on the Thames between Oxford and 
Cambridge.” * e 

“ Oh, yes, you must go and see it. That’s Jack’s ambition— to be, 
one of the crew.” 

“ Ah, but you see there’s no river at R , and that’s so unlucky,” 

said Jack seriously. 

And so what with explanations and quest ions the ice melted a little. 
Alvar looked smiling and beneficent; he did not seem at all ashamed 
of his own ignorance; and Jack evidently regarded him with a new 
respect. 

Cheriton also contrived that the Seytons, with the Vicar of Oakby, 
Mr. Ellesmere and his wife, should be asked to dinner; and as the 
vicar had some general conversation, some information about Spain 
was elicited from Alvar, who, moreover, was pleased to find himself 
in ladies’ society, and was evidently at ease in it; while Virginia, in 
exchange for the pleasant talk that seemed to come out of her old 
life, could tell Cheriton that her Cousin Ruth was coming to stay 
with her, and could confide in him that home was still a little 
strange. 

“ Well, strangers are strange,” said Cherry. “ We are shaking 
down, but the number of tempers lost in the process might be ad- 
vertised for ‘ as of no value except to the owners,’ if to them. Only 
the home-made article, you understand—” 

“ Dear me,” said Virginia, “ 1 should as soon think of losing my 
temper with the Cid. Aren’t .you afraid of him?” 

Cheriton made an irresistibly ludicrous face. 

“ Don’t tell,” he said,“ but 1 think we are; and yet, you know, 
we think ' yon soothern chap,’ as old Bates called him, must he ‘ a 
bit of a softy ’ after all.” 

“ Oh, Cherry, that is how you talked yourself when we were 
children,” exclaimed Virginia impulsively. “ Do you know 1 feel 1' 
was born here, when 1 hear the broad Westmoreland. 1 never for- 
got it.” 

“ Nay, I’m glad you don’t say I talk so now,” said Cherry. 
“ They tell me "at Oxford that my tongue always betrays me when 
1 am excited. But here comes Alvar; now make him fall in love 
with Westmoreland. Alvar, Miss Seyton has been abroad, so she is 
not quite a benighted savage.” 

“My brother Clieiiton is not a savage,” said Alvar, smiling, as 
Cherry moved away. “ He is the kindest and most beauiifurper- 
son 1 have ever seen.” 

“ Yes, he is very kind. But 1 hope, Mr. Lester, that you do not 
think us all savages, with that one exception.” 

“In future 1 can never think so,” said Alvar, with a bow. 
“ These boys are savage certainly— very savage, but 1 do not care.” 


42 


AN ENGLISH BELIKE. 


“ It is strange, is it not,” said Virginia, rather timidly, “ to have 
tto make acquaintance with one’s own lather?” 

“ Ot my lather 1 say nothing,” said Alvar, with a sudden air of 
< hauteur , that made the impulsive Virginia blush, and feel as if she 
had taken a liberty with him, till he added, with a smile, ‘‘Miss 
Seyton, too, I hear* is a stranger.” 

” Yes, 1 have been away ever since 1" was a little girl, and — and 
1 had forgotten my relations.” 

“ 1 have not known mine,” said Alvar; “ Cheriton wrote to me 
once a little letter. 1 have it now, and since then I have loved him. 
I do not know the rest, and they wish I was not here.” 

“ But don’t you think,” said Virginia, earnestly, “ that we — that 
you will soon feel moie at home with them?” 

“ Oh, 1 do not know,” said Alvar, with a shrug. ‘‘It is cold, 
and I am so dull that 1 could die. They understand nothing. And 
in Spain I was the chief; 1 could do what I wished. Here I must 
follow and obey. My name even is different. 1 do not know ‘ Mr. 
Lester.’ 1 am ‘ Don Alvar.’ Will you not call me so?” 

‘‘ But that would be so very strange tome,” said Virginia, parry- 
ing this request. “ Every one will call you Mr. Lester. How tall 
TSTettie is grown. Do you not think her very pretty?” 

“ Oh, she is pink, and white, and blue, and yellow; but she is 
like a little boy. There is not in her eyes the attraction, the co- 
quetry, which I admire,” said Alvar, pointing his remark with a 
glance at his companion’s lucid, beaming, interested eyes, in which 
however there was little conscious coquetry. 

“ 1 am sorry to hear you admire coquettes,” was too obvious an 
answer to be resisted. 

“ Nay, it is the privilege of beauty,” said Alvar. 

Virginia, like many impulsive people, was apt to recollect with a 
cold chill conversations by which at the time she had been entirely 
carried away. But on looking back at this one she liked it. Alvar’s 
dignity and grace of manner made his trifling compliments both 
flattering and respectful. His feelings, too, she thought, were evi- 
dently deep and tender; and how she pitied him for liis solitary 
condition! 

CHAPTER VIII. 

A DAY OF REST. 

“ Gayly the troubadour touched his guitar.” 

On the third Sunday morning after Alvar’s arrival, Mr. Lester 
came down as usual at the sound of the gong, and as he glanced 
round the dining-room missed his two elder sons. 

Prayers were over and breakfast had begun before Alvar entered. 

“ Ah, pardon,” he said, bowing to his grandmother; “ 1 did not 
know it was late.” 

“ I make a point of being punctual on Sunday,” said Mr. Lester, 
in a tone of incipient displeasure. 

“ Cheriton is late too,” said Alvar. 

“ No,” said Jack, ‘‘ he’s gone to church.” 

“Ay, then we do not go to-day,” said Alvar, with an air of relief 
SO comical that even the solemn Jack could hardly stand it. 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


4 $ 


44 Oh, yes, we do,” he said, 44 this is extra.” 

44 Cheriton,” said Mr. Lester, 44 is very attentive to his religious 
duties.” 

‘‘ I suppose he’ll have breakfast at the Vicarage,” said Nettie, as 
Alvar raised his eyebrows and gave a little shrug. 

It was a gesture habitual to him, and was not intended to express 
contempt either tor religion or tor Cheriton, but only a want of 
comprehension of the affair; but it annoyed Mr. Lester and called 
his attention to the tact that Alvar had appeared in a black velvet 
coat of a peculiar foreign cut, the sight of which he disliked on a 
week-day, and considered intolerable when it was contrasted with 
the spruie neatness of the rest of the party. He could not very welL 
attack Alvar on the subject, but he sharply reproved Bob tor cut- 
ting hunches of bread when no one wanted them, and found fault 
with the coffee. And then, apparently apropos of nothing, he began 
to make a little speech about the importance of example in a coun- 
try place, and the influence of trifles. 

“ And 4 1 can assure every one present,” heconcluded emphatically, 
44 that there is no need to look far for an example of the evil effects 
of neglect in these particulars.” 

“ Elderthwaite?” whispered Nettie to Jack. 

“ Ay,” said Mrs. Lester, 44 young people should show respect to 
Sunday morning. It is what in my father’s house was always in- 
sisted on. Your grandfather, too, used to say that he liked his 
dogs even to know Sunday.” 

4 ‘ It is strange to me,” said Alvar coolly. 

” It will be well that you should give yourself the pains to be- 
come accustomed to it,” said his father curtly. 

It was the first time that the stately stranger had been addressed 
in such a tone, and he looked up with a flash of the eye that staitled 
the younger ones. 

44 Sir, ii is by your will I am a stranger here,” he said, with evi- 
dent displeasure. 

44 Stranger or no, my regulations must be respected,” said Mr. 
Lester, his color rising. 

Alvar rose from his seat and proved his claim at any rate to the 
family temper by bowing to his grandmother and marching out of 
the room. 

44 flighty tighty !” said the grandmother. 44 Here’s a spirit of 
temper tor you!” 

44 Intolerable insolence!” exclaimed Mr. Lester. 44 Under my 
roof he must submit to what I please to say to him.” 

44 It’s just what I told ye, Gerald; a foreigner’s ways are what 
we can not do with,” said Mrs. Lester. 

44 Of course,” blurted out Jack, with the laudable desire of mend- 
ing matters; 44 of course he is a foreigner. How can you expect 
him to be anything else? And father never said it was his coat.” 

44 His coat?” said Mr. Lester. 41 It is his temper to which 1 ob- 
ject. When he came 1 told him that I expected Sunday to be ob- 
served in my house, and he agreed.” 

44 But he did not understand that you thought that coat improper 
on Sunday,” said Jack with persevering justice. 

“lam not in the habit of being obscure,” said Mr. Lester, as he 


44 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

rose from the table, while Jack thought he would give Alvar a little 
good advice. Cherry was too soft: he was equally impartial, and 
would be more plain spoken. But as he approached the library he 
heard an ominous tinkling, and entering, beheld Alvar, still in the 
objectionable coat, beginning to play on the still more objectiona- 
ble guitar, an air which Jack did not think sounded like a hymn 
tune. 

Jack really intended to mend matters, but his manner was un- 
fortunate, and in the tone he would have used to a disobedient fag 
he remarked, as he stood bolt upright beside his brother — 

“ 1 say, Alvar, 1 think you’d better not play on that thing this 
morning .’ 9 

“ There is no reason for you to tell me what to do,” said Alvar 
quietly. 

“ It’s not, you know,” said Jack, “.thati think there’s any harm 
in it. My views are very liberal. 1 only think it’s a frivolous and 
unmanly sort of instrument; but the governor won’t like it, and 
there’ll be no end of a row.” 

“ You have not a musical soul,” said Alvar loftily, for he had 
had time to cool down somewhat. 

“ Certainly not,” said the liberal Jack, with unnecessary energy 
and a tone of disgust; M but that’s not the question. It’s not. the 
custom here to play that sort of thing on a thing like that on a 
Sunday morning.' Ask Cherry.” 

“ Would it vex my brother?” said Alvar. 

“ If you mean Cheriton, it certainly would. He hates a row.” 

"‘A row?” said the puzzled Alvar; “ that is a noise — my guitar?” 

“ Oh, hang it! no, a quarrel,” began Jack, when suddenly — 

" Sir, 1 consider this an act of defiance; 1 beg 1 may see that in- 
strument put away at once,” and Mr. Lester’s voice took the threat- 
ening sound that made his anger always appear so much worse than 
it really was. ” 1 will have the proprieties of my house observed, 
and no example of this kind set to your younger brothers.” 

Alvar had taken Jack’s interference, with cool contempt, but now 
lie started up with a look of such passion as fairly subdued Jack 
into a hasty— 

“ Oh, come, come, 1 say now — don’t!” 

Alvar controlled himself suddenly and entirely. 

“ Sir, 1 obey my father’s commands. 1 will say good-morning,” 
and taking up his guitar went up to his own room, from which he 
did not emerge at church time, and as no one ventured to call him 
they set off without him. Among themselves they might quarrel 
and make it up again many times a day, but Alvar’s feelings were 
evidently more serious. 

It was occasionally Cheriton’s practice to sing in the choir, more 
for the popularity of his example than for his voice, which was in- 
difteient. Alvar had been greatly puzzled at his doing so, and had, 
then told him that “ in that white robe he looked like the picture of 
an angel,” a remark which so discomfited Cherry that he had 
further perplexed his unlucky brother by saying — 

Pray don’t say such a thing to the others, 1 should never hear 
the last of it. You’d better say 1 look like an ass at once.” 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 45 

He did not therefore see anything of his family till he met them 
after the service, when Jack attacked him. 

“ What induced you to go out this morning? Everything has 
gone utterly wiong, and 1 shouldn’t wonder if we should find Alvar 
gone back to Spain.” 

“ Why, what’s the matter?” 

“ Alvar came down late in that ridiculous coat, and then played 
the guitar. And if ever you saw a fellow in a passion! He likes 
his own way.” 

“ Was father angry?” 

“ 1 should just think so. 1 don’t expect they’ll speak.” 

This was a pleasant prospect. Cheiiton saw that his father’s brow 
was cloudy, and as he went upstairs his grandmother called him 
info her room. 

“ Cheriton,” she said mysteriously, as she sat down and untied 
her bonnet, “ Jack has told you of your brother’s behavior, and it’s 
my belief there’s a clew to it, and 1 hope you’ll take warning, for I 
sometimes think ye’ve a hankering after that way yourself.” 

“ What way, grandmamma? I never play the guitar on a Sun- 
day morning.” 

“ Kay, but there’s more behind. It’s well known how Sunday is 
profaned in Popish countries. I’ve heard they keep the shops open 
in France. Your brother has been brought up among Papists, and 
it would be a sad thing for your father’s son to give all this property 
into the hands of the priests.” 

“Dear me, granny, what a frightful suggestion. But I’m sure 
Alvar has no Romish sympathies. He has no turn for anything of 
the kind, and 1 should think the Roman Church was very unat- 
tractive in Spain.” 

“ Ay, but they’re very deep.” 

“ Well,” said Cherry, “ if Alvar is a Jesuit in disguise, as you 
say, and rather a dissipated person, as my father seems to think, 
and has such an appalling temper as Jack describes, we’re in a bad 
way. 1 think I’ll go and see for mvself.” 

When Cherry entered Alvar’s room he found this alarming com- 
pound of qualities sitting by the fire looking forlorn and lonely. 

“ Why, Alvar, what’s all this about?” 

“Ah, my brother,” said Alvar, “you were absent and all has 
been wrong. My father is offended with me. I know not why. 
He insulted me.” 

“ Oh. nonsense! we never talk about being insulted. My father’s 
a little hasty, but he means nothing by it. What did you do that 
aunoyed him?” ; 

“ 1 played my guitar and Jack scolded me. Ko one shall do so 
but you.” 

“ 1 daie say Jack made an ass of himself— he often does; but he 
is a thorough good fellow at bottom. You know we do get up in 
our best clothes on Sunday.” 

“ I can do that,” said Alvar, “ but your Sunday I do not under- 
stand. You tell me 1 may not play at cards or at billiards; you do 
not dance nor go to the theater. What good does it do? I would 
go to church, though it is tiresome, and 1 shudder at the singing. 


46 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

It is a mark, doubtless, of my father’s politics; but at home— well*. 
1 can smoke, if tlrat is better?” 

Driven back to first principles, Cheriton hardly knew what to 
say. “ Of course,” he answered. “ 1 have often heard the matter 
discussed, and 1 don’t prelend to say that at Oxford the best of ua 
are as particular as we might be. But in a country place like this, 
carelessness would do infinite harm. A”d, on the whole, 1 shouldn’t 
like the rule to be otherwise.” 

Alvar sighed, and made no answer. 

“ But,” continued Cherry, “ 1 think no one has a right to impose 
rules on you. I wouldn’t bring out the guitar in the morning— it 
looks rather odd, you know— nor wear that coat. But we’re hot so 
very strict; there are always newspapers about, and novels, and, as 
you say, you can smoke or talk, or play the piano — I’m sure no one 
would know what the tune was — or write letters. Really, it might 
be worse, you know.” 

Perhaps Cherry’s coaxing voice and eyes were more effectual than 
his arguments; anyway, Alvar said, “ Well, 1 will offer my hand 
to my father, if he will take it.” 

“ Oh, no; pray don’t .make a scene about it. There’s the gong. 
Put on your other coat, and come down. We do eat our dinner on 
Sunday, and I’m awfully hungry.” 

Whether Mr. Lester accepted the coat as a flag of truce, or 
whether he did not wish to provoke a contest with an unknown ad- 
versary, nothing more was said; but Alvar’s evil star was in the 
ascendant, and he was destined to run counter to his family in a 
more unpardonable way. 

He had no sympathy whatever with the love for animals, which 
was perhaps the softest side of his rough kindred. All the English 
Lesters were imbued with that devotion to live creatures which is 
ingrain with some natures. No trouble was too great to take for 
them. Bob and Nettie got up in the morning and w T ent out in all 
weatheis to teed their ferrets, or their jackdaws, or whatever pet 
was young, sick, or troublesome. Cheriton’s great St. Bernard, 
Kolia, ranked somewhere very near Jack in his affections, and had 
been taught, trained, beaten, and petted, till he loved his master 
with untiring devotion. Mrs. Lester had her chickens and turkeys, 
Mr. Lester his prize cattle and his horses, some of the latter old and 
well-tried friends. 

It must be'admitted that Oakby was a trying place for people de- 
void of this sentiment. Every one had a dog, more or less valu- 
able, and jackdaws and magpies have their drawbacks as members 
of a family. Alvar openly said that he had never seen anybody 
make pets of dumb animals, and that he could not understand do- 
ing so; and though he took no notice of them, Rolla and an old 
pointer of Mr. Lester’s, called Rose, had already been thrashed for 
growling at him. 

On this particular Sunday afternoon, the bright cold weather 
clouded over and promised a thaw. Aivar preferred dullness to the 
weather out-of doors, and Cheriton accompanied his father on the 
Sunday stroll, which included all the beasts on the premises, and 
generally ended in visits to the old keeper and coachman, who 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 47 

thought it the height of religious advantage to hear the squire read 
a chapter. 

Mr. Lester was aware that he had been impatient with Lis son, 
and that Alvar could not be expected to be imbued with an instinct- 
ive knowledge of those torms of religion with which his father had 
been inspired by his young brilliant wife, when “ Fanny ” had 
taught him to restore his church and*build his schools in a fuller 
fashion than had satisfied his lather, and made him believe that his 
position demanded of himself and his family a personal participation 
in all good works— some control of them he naturally desired. 

He was, as Mr. Ellesmere said, with a little shrug, when forced 
to yield a point, “ a model squire,” conscientious and open-handed, 
but unpersuadable. Perhaps the clear-eyed, wide-souled Fanny 
might have allowed more readily for the necessary changes of 
twenty years. Certainly she would better have appreciated a new- 
comer’s difficulties; while poor Mr. Lester felt that Fanny’s ideal 
was invaded, and not by Fanny’s son. It spoiled his walk with 
Cheriton, and made him reply sharply to the latter’s attempts at 
agreeable conversation. Cheriton at length left him at the old game- 
keeper’s; and while Mr. Lester’s irritable accents were softened into 
kindly inquiries for the old father, now. pensioned off, he chatted 
to the son, at present in command, who had been taking care of a 
terrier puppy for him. 

Finding that Buffer, so called from his prevailing color, was look- 
ing strong and lively, Cheriton thought it would be as well to ac- 
custom him to society, and took him back to the house* lie could 
not heip wondering what would become of Alvar when he was left 
alone at Oakby. Another fortnight would hardly be sufficient to 
give him any comfortable independent habits; how could he endure 
such deadly dullness as the life there would bring him? That fort- 
night would be lively enough, and there would be his cousin, 
Rupert Lester, for an additional companion, and another Miss Sey- 
ton, more attiactive than Virginia, for an occasional excitement. If 
Alvar was so fascinating a person to young ladies, would he — 
would she — ? An indefinite haze of questions pervaded Cheriton ’s 
mind, gnd as he reckoned over the county beauties whom he could 
introduce to Alvar, and whom he would surely admire more than 
just the one particular beauty who had first occurred to his thoughts, 
he reached the house. He found his brothers and Nettie alone in 
the library, Alvar sitting apart in the window, and looking out at 
the stormy sky. 

“Hallo!” said Jack, “ so you have brought Buffer up. Well, 
he has grown a nice little chap.” 

“ Yes, 1 thought it was. time he should begin his education. 
Nice head, hasn’t he? He is just like old Peggy.” 

“ Yes, he’ll be a very good dog, some day.” 

“ Set him down,” said Bob; “ let’s~have’a look at him.” 

“ Little darling!” said Nettie, enthusiastically. 

Buffer was duly examined, and then, as Cherry turned to the fire 
to warm himself, observing that it was colder than ever, began to 
play about the room, while they entered on a discussion of the 
merits of all his relations up to their dim recollection of his great- 
grandmother. 


48 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

Buffer made himself much at home, poked about the room, and 
at last crossed over to Alvar, who had sat on, unheeding his en- 
trance. Buffer gave his trousers a gentle pull. Alvar shook him 
off. Here was another tiresome little beast; then, just as Cherry 
crossed over to the window in search ot him, he made a dart at 
Alvar’s toot and bit it sharply. ' Alvar sprung up with a few vehe- 
ment Spanish words, gave the little dog a rough kick, and then 
dashed it away, from him with a gesture of fierce annoyance. Buffer 
uttered a howl of pain. 

“I say, that’s too rough,’ ’ exclaimed Cherry, snatching up the 
puppy, which cried and moaned. 

“ But it bit me!” said Alvar, angrily. 

“ I believe you have killed him,” said Cheriton. 

“You cruel coward,” cried Nettie, bursting into a storm of 
tears. 

Alvar stood facing all the four, their blue eyes flashing scorn and 
indignation; but, angry as they were, they were too i radical to 
waste time in reproaches. Jack brought a light, and Bob, whose 
skill in such matters equaled his literary incapacity, felt Buffer’s 
limbs scientifically. 

“No ribs broken,” he said; “he’s bruised, though, poor little 
beggar! All! be lias put liis shoulder out. Now, Cherry, if your 
hand’s going to shake, give him to Jack. I’ll pull it in again.” 

“ 1 can hold him steady,” said Alvar, in a low voice. 

“No, thank you,” said Cherry, curtly, as Jack put a hand to 
steady his liold, and the operation was performed amid piteous 
shrieks from Buffer. Alvar had the sense to watch them in silence. 
Wliat l ad he done? A kick and a blow to any domestic animal 
was common enough in Spain. And now he had raised all this 
righteous indignation, ana, far worse, offanded Cherry, and seen 
his distress at the little animal’s suffering, and at its cause. Buffer 
was no sooner laid in Nettie’s arms to be cossetted and comforted,, 
than lie seized Cherry's hand. 

“Ah, my brother! 1 did not know the little dog was yours. X 
w T oukl not touch him—” 

“ What difference does that make?” said Cherry, shaking him 
oft and walking away. 

“ 1 shall keep my dog out of his way,” said Bob, contemptuously. 

“ 1 suppose Spaniards are savages,” said Jack, in a tone of deadly 
indignation. 

“ He’d better play a thousand guitars than hurt a poor little in- 
nocent puppy!” said Nettie, half sobbing. 

Alvar stood looking mournfully before him; liisangei had died 
out; he looked almost ready to cry with perplexity. 

Clieriton turned round. “ i won’t have a fuss made,” he said. 
“ Take Buffer upstairs to my room, and don’t say a word to any 
one. It can’t be helped.” 

“ I know who I shall never say a word to.” said Nettie; but she 
obeyed, followed by Jack and Bob. Alvar detained Cheriton. 

“ Oh, my brother, forgive me. I would have broken my own 
arm sooner than see your eyes look at me thus. It is with us a 
word and a blow. 1 will never strike any little beast again— never. ’* 


AX ENGLISH SQUIRE. 49 

He looked so wretched that Cheriton answered reluctantly, “ l 
don't mean to say any more about it.” 

“ But you are angry still?” 

“No, I’m not angry. I suppose you feel differently. 1 hate to 
see anything suffer.” 

“ And 1 to see you suffer, my brother.” 

”1? nonsense! 1 tell you that’s nothing to do with it. There, 
let it drop. I shall say no more.” 

He escaped, unable further to satisfy his brother, and went up- 
stairs, where Buffer had been put to bed comfortably. 

“ Did you ever know such a nasty trick in your life?” said Jack, 
as they left the twins to watch the invalid’s slumbers. 

“ Oh!” said Cherry, turning into his room, “ it’s all hopeless and 
miserable. We snail never come to any good — never!” 

‘ Oh, come, come now, Cheny,” said Jack, for once assuming 
the office of consoler. “ Buffer’ll do well enough; don’t be so de- 
spairing.” 

Cheriton had much the brighter and serener nature of the two; 
but he was subject to fits of reaction, when Jack’s cooler tempera- 
ment held its own. 

“ It’s not Buffer,” he said, “ it’s Alvar! How can one ever have 
any brotherly feeling for a fellow like that? He’s as different as a 
Red Indian!” 

“ It would be very odd and unnatural if you had much brotherly 
feeling in him,” said Jack. “ Why do you trouble yourself about 
him?” 

“ But he does seem to have taken a sort of fancy to me, and the 
poor fellow’s a stranger!” 

“ You’re a great deal too soft about him. Of course he likes you, 
when you’re always looking him up. Don’t be superstitious about 
it—he’s only our half-brother; and don’t go down to tea looking 
like that, or you’ll have the governor asking what’s the matter with 
you.” 

“Remember, I’ll not have a word said about it,” said Cheriton 
emphatically. 

Nothing was said publicly about it, but Alvar w T as made to fee] 
himself in disgrace, and endeavored to reingratiate liimseif with 
Cherry with a simplicity that was irresistibe. He asked humbly 
after Buffer’s health, and finally presented him with a silver chain 
for a collar. 

When Buffer began to limp about on three legs, liis tawny coun- 
tenance looking out above the silver engraved heart that clasped the 
collar with the sentimental leer peculiar to puppyhood, the effect 
was sufficiently ludicrous; but he forgave Alvar sooner than his 
brothers did, and perhaps grateful for his finery, became rather fond 
of him. 


CHAPTER IX. 

RUTH. 

u She has two eyes so soft and brown. 1 ’ 

There was a little oak-paneled bedroom at Elderthwaile, which 
had been called Ruth’s ever since, as a curly-haired, brown-skinned 


AX ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


50 

child, the little orphan cousin had come from her grandmother’s in 
London and paid a long visit in the North some five or six years be- 
fore the winter’s day on which she now occupied it, when she came 
to be present at the Lesters’ ball. She was a nut-brown maid still, 
with rough, curly hair and great dark eyes, with curly, upturned 
lashes— eyes that were like Virginia’s in shape, color, and fervor, 
but which glanced and gleamed and melted after a fashion wholly 
their own. She was slender and small, and though with no wonder- 
ful beauty of feature or perfection of form, whether she sat or stood 
she made a picture; all colors that she wore became her, all scenes' 
set off her peculiar grace. Now, her brown velvet dress, her rusty 
hair against the dark old shutter, as she sat crouched up in the 
window-seat, were a perfect “ symphony in brown.” 

Ruth Seyton was an orphan, and lived with her grandmother, 
Lady Charlton, a gentle, worldly old lady, whose great object was 
to see her well married, and to steer her course safely through all 
the dangers that might affect the course of a well-endowed and very 
attractive girl. The scorn which Ruth felt for the shallow feelings 
and worldly notions with which she was expected to enter on the 
question of her own future was justifiable enough, and led to a vio- 
lent reaction and to a fervor of false' romance. Ruth had found her 
hero and formulated her view of life, and the hero wak Rupert Les- 
ter, whom she was about to meet at the ball given in Alva’s honor, 
and between whom and herself lay the memory of something more 
than a flirtation. 

The theory was, that the hero once found, the grand passion once 
experienced, was its own justification, itself the proof of depth of 
character and worth ot heart. A girl who paused to consider her 
lover’s character or her friends’ disapproval, when, she had once 
given her heart away, was a weak and cold-natured creature in her 
opinion. She knew that many difficulties lay between her and 
Rupert Lester, and she gloried in the thought ot how they should 
be overcome, rejoiced in her own discrimination, which could see 
the difference between his real passion and the worldly motives of' 
some of her other admirers, or the boyish fancy of Cheritqn Lester, 
who talked to her about his brothers and his occupation, and had 
room in his heart, so it seemed to her, for a thousand lesser loves. 
Ruth believed that, she despised flirtation, but there could be no harm 
in being pleasant to a boy she had known all her life, and whose at- 
tentions just now were so cohvenient. Besides, Cheriton was really 
very like his Cousiu Rupert, very like the photograph which she 
now hid away as Virginia came in search ot her. 

The two cousins had been a great deal, together at intervals, and 
were fond of each other, and Virginia knew something about Ru- 
pert; but Ruth knew better than to give h^r full confidence on the 
subject. 

“ Well,” she said, as her cousin entered, “ and how does the world 
go with you ? Do you see much of the Lesters?” 

“ Yes; while the frost lasted I used to go down to the ice with 
the boys, and we met there. Cheriton comes over here sometime-, 
and once he brought his brother.” 

“ What, the Spaniard? How do they manage? Is he very 
queer?” 


AH EHGLISH SQUIRE. 


51 


“ Oh, no! Of course he is very unlike the others. Cherry gets- 
on very well with him. I believe Mr. Lester does not wish the 
boys to come here much,” added Virginia, abruptly. 

” Well, it wasn't approved ot in Roland’s time,” said Ruth. 

“ Were we always bad company?” said Virginia. “ 1 have had 
a great deal to learn. Why did you never make me understand bet- 
ter what Elderthwaite was like?” 

“ But, Queenie,” said Ruth cautiously, using a pet name of Vir- 
ginia’s girlhood, “ surely you were told how tumbledown the place 
was, and how stupid and behindhand everything would be. Poor 
dear Uncle James ought to have lived fifty years since.” 

“ I. don’t believe that parish priests taught their people nothing 
but to catch rats fifty years since,” said Virginia, with a touch of 
the family bitterness in her voice. “ Ls it because papa is poor that 
the men-servants get tipsy, and Dick and Harry are always after 
them? Oh, Ruth,” suddenly softening, “ I ought not to have said 
it, but the boys aren’t brought up well; and if you saw. how 
wretched the people in the village are— and they look so wicked.” 

“Yes,” said Ruth, as Virginia’s tears silenced her, ‘‘but you 
know we Seytons are a bad lot. We’re born, they say, with a drop 
of bad blood in us. Look at Aunt Julia, she was driven desperate 
and ran away — small blame to her — when her lover’s father forbade 
the match; but they caught and stopped her. After that she never 
cared what she did" and just lived by making fun of things.” 

Virginia shuddered. Could her lazy, sarcastic aunt have ever 
known the thrillings and yearnings which were beating in her own 
heart now? 

” There is much fun in it,” she said. 

‘‘No. As for Dick, I don’t think much of him. • Poor old . 
Roland was worth a dozen of him. I don’t care what people do as 
long as they are something. But Dick has no fine feelings.” 

“ Ruth,” said Virginia, ” 1 think 1 was not taught better for 
nothing. 1 am sure papa is very unhappy; he thinks how wrong 
everything is. Poor papa! Grandpapa was such a bad father for 
him. 1 can not make friends with Dick, and Harry will go back to 
school. Indoors 1 have nothing to do; but 1 am going to ask Uncle- 
James, and then if I go to the cottages and get the children together 
a little, perhaps it may be better than nothing. Old nurse says they 
alt grow up bad. Poor things, how can they help it?” 

“Well, Queenie,” said Ruth dubiously, ‘‘1 don’t think the 
people are very fit for you to go to. I don’t think Uncle Seyton 
would like it.” 

“ 1 should not be afraid of them,” said Virginia. “ It would be 
doing something tor papa, and doing good besides.” 

To think of her father as an involuntary victim to the faults of 
others was the one refuge of Virginia’s heart; his graceful, melan- 
choly gentleness had caught her fancy, and she was filled with a 
pity which, however strange from a child to a father, vibrated in 
every tender string of her nature. On the other hand, all her no- 
tions of right were outiaged by the more obvious evils prevailing 
at Elderthw T aite, and she went through in those first weeks a variety 
of emotions, for which action seemed the only cure. She felt as if 
the sins of generations lay on her father’s shoulders, and she wanted 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

to puH them on to her own— wanted to stand in the deadly breach 
with the little weapon that her small experience had put into her 
hand. She wanted to teach a tew poof children, a thing that might 
only be a pleasant occupation, or the most commonplace of duties. 
But it was turning her face right round on the smooth slope the Sey- 
tons were treading, and trying to make a step up-hill. 

Ruth did not think that first step would be easy, and would have 
liked to see Virginia go down-stairs in a somewhat less desperate 
humor, to find her uncle chattering to Miss Seyton in the drawing- 
room. 

“ Ha, ha, Miss Ruth! Come North just in time to make a con- 
quest of the fine Frenchman at Oakby?” 

“ 1 thought he was a Spaniard, uncle,” said Ruth. 

“ Eh, pretty much of a muchness, aren’t they? Fve got a card 
for a grand ball to go and see him. Ha, ha! I’d sooner see him 
with a red coat on at Ashrigg meet next Thursday.” 

“ But you must go to the ball, uncle, and dance with me,” said 
Ruth. 

‘‘That’s a bargain,” said the jolly parson, striking his hands 
together. “ Any dance I like?” 

” To be sure.” 

“ Ah, mind you look out, then. When you’re sitting quiet with 
the Frenchman you’ll see your old uncle round the corner.” 

“ 1 never dance with any one who doesn’t know the trois temps , 
uncle.” 

“ Bless my soul! My favorite dance is the hornpipe, or old Sir 
Roger— kiss the girls as you pop under. That’s an old parson’s 
privilege, you know.” 

All this time Virginia had been standing apart, working up her 
courage, and now, regardless of the unities of conversation, and 
with a now-or-never feeling, she began, her fresh young voice 
trembling and her color rising high. 

“ Uncle James, if you please. 1 wanted to tell you 1 shall be 
very glad to do anything to help you, it you will allow me.” 

” Help me, my dear? Teach me the troy tong , or whatever Ruth 
calls it?” 

“ To help you in the parish, uncle.” 

“ Parish? Ha, ha! Do they have the pretty girls to read prayers 
in the grand Ritualistic places nowadays?” 

“ 1 thought 1 might perhaps teach some of the children,” faltered 
poor Virginia through her uncle’s peal of laughter. 

“ Teach? We don’t have many new-fangled notions here, my 
dear. Do your wool-work, and dance your troy tong , and mind 
your own business.” 

“1 have always been accustomed to do something useful,” said 
Virginia, gaining courage from indignation. 

“ Now, look here, Virginia,” said Parson Seyton emphatically. 

” Don’t you go putting your finger into a pie you know nothing of. 
There’s not a cottage in the place fit for a young lady to set her foot 
in. There’s a vast deal too much ot young women’s meddling in 
these days; and as for Elderthwaite, there’s an old Methody, as 
they call him, who groans away to the soberer folks, and comforts 
their hearts in his own fashion" What could a chit of a lass like 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 53 

you do for them? Go and captivate the Frenchman with your 
round eyes— you’ve a grand pair of them — and give me a kiss.” 

Parson Seyton put out his hand and drew her toward him. 

“ But, uncle,” she stammered, yielding to the kiss in such utter 
confusion of mind that she hardly knew w r hat she was doing. 

But, uncle, do you like that Methodist to — to attract the people?” 

“ Bless your heart, child, people must have their religion their 
own way. They’d stare to hear me convicting them of their sins. 
‘ What’s the parson done with his own?’ they’d ask. But It com- 
forts them like blankets and broth, and it’s little they get of either, M 
with a side-glance at his sister; “ so I take good care to keep out of 
the way. I told Cherry Lester I should go and hear him some 
Sunday afternoon. ‘ Hope it would do you good, parson,’ says he, 
coolly. Eh, he’s a fine lad. What a confounded fool old Lester 
must* think himself to have this foreign fellow ready to step into 
his place.” 

“ Are you and Cheriton as great friends as ever, uncle?” asked 
Ruth. 

“ Friends! Oh, lie’s like Virginia here. Wants to teach me a 
lesson now and then. Got me over last year to their giand meeting 
of clergy and laity for educational purposes, and there 1 was up on 
the platform with the bept of them.” 

“ Did you make a speech, uncle?” asked Ruth. 

*M did, my lass, 1 did! When they had quarreled and disputed, 
and couldn’t by any means agree, some one asked my opinion, and 
1 said, ‘ My Lord,’ — Lord was there, you know,— ‘ and my rev- 
erend brethren, having no knowledge whatever of the subject, 1 
have no- opinion to give.’ And old Thorold— he comes from the 
other side of the county, mind you, — remarked that 1 Mr. Sey ton’s 
old-fashioned wisdom might find followers with. ad vantage.’ Ila — 
ha— you should have seen Cherry’s blue eyes down below on the 
benehes when I gave him a wink! * Old-fashioned wisdom,’ Miss 
Virginia; don’t you despise it.” 

“Hallo, uncle!” shouted Harry, putting his head in, “here’s a 
fellow come tearing up to say the w r edding’s waited an hour, and if 
the parson isn’t quick they’ll do without him.” 

“ Bless my soul, I forgot all about ’em. Coming— coming— and 
I’ll give ’em a couple of rabbits for the wedding-dinner. Virginia ’ll 
never ask me to marry her, that’s certain.” And off strode the 
parson, while poor Virginia, scandalized and perplexed as she was, 
was fain, like every one else, to laugh at him. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE OLD PARSON. 

“ He gave not of that text a pulled hen 
That saith that hunters ben not holy men.” 

Perhaps no amount of angry opposition to her wishes could so 
have perplexed Virginia as her uncle’s nonchalance , which, whether 
cynical or genial, seemed to remove him from the ranks of respon- 
sible beings, and to make him a law unto himself. When we read 


54 


A N ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


of young higb-souled martyrs, we are apt to fancy that their way 
was plain belore them; that however hard to their flesh, it was at 
least clear to their spirit: that Agnes or Cecilia, however much 
afflicted by the wickedness of their adversaries, were never perplexed 
by anything in them that was perhaps not wicked. Virginia Seyton 
was full of desiie as pure, wishes as warm to lead the higher life, 
was capable of as much “ enthusiasm of humanity ” as any maiden 
who defied torture and death; but she was confronted by a kind of 
difficulty that made her feel like a naughty girl; the means to fulfill 
her purpose were open to so much objection that she could hardly 
hold firmty to the end in view. It may seem a very old difficulty, 
but it came upon her as a startling surprise that so much evil could 
be permitted by those who were not altogether devoid of good. For 
she was inclined to be sorry for this jolly, genial uncle, and not to 
wish to vex him; while yet his every practice and sentiment was 
such as she had been rightly taught to disapprove. 

Anxious tor a chance of settling her confused ideas, she slipped 
away by herself, and went out into the muddy lanes, heedless of a 
fast-falling Shower. 

The thaw had set in rapidly, and rich tints of brown, green, and 
yellow succeeded to the cold whiteness of the snow on moor and hill- 
side. A thaw, when the snow has fairly gone, even in the depth of 
winter, has a certain likeness to spring; the violent, buffeting wind 
was warm and soft, and the sky, instead of one pale sheet of blue, 
showed every variety of wild rain-cloud and driven mist. 

Virginia plunged on through the mud with a perplexity in her 
soul as blinding as the tears that rose and confused the landscape 
already half -blotted out by wreaths of mounlam mist. Suddenly, 
as she turned a coiner, something bounced up against her, nearly 
knocking her down, and a voice exclaimed, — 

“ Pown, Rolla! How dare you, sir! Oh, dear me, how sorry 1 
am! that great brute has covered you with mud;” and Cheriton. 
Lester, very muddy himself, and holding by the neck an object 
hardly recognizable as Buffer, appeared before her. 

“ 1 was very muddy before,” said Virginia. “ Why, what has 
happened to the puppy?” 

44 He fell into the ditch. Nettie will wash him; it’s her favorite 
amusement. I was coming up here to ask after a young fellow 1 
know, who works at this farm; he hasn’t been going on very well 
lately.” 

”1 suppose you know every one in Oakby,” said Virginia, 
abruptly. 

“ Pretty well,” answered Cherry. 41 1 couldn’t help doing so.” 

“I should like to know the people in Elderth waite,” said 
Virginia. 

“ It would be a very good thing for some of them if you did.” 

“ Ah!” she said, suddenly, “ but Uncle James will not let me do 
so.” 

“ Ah!” said Cherry, with an inflection in his voice that Virginia 
did not understand. Then he added quickly, 44 What did you want 
to do?” 

”1 wanted,” said Virginia, moved, she hardly knew why, to 
confidence as they walked on side by side, “to go to the cottages 


AH ENGLISH SQUIKE. 55 

sometimes, and perhaps teach some of the children. Don’t you 
think it would be right?” 

14 1 think it would hardly do for you to go about at lrap-hazard 
among the cottagers.” 

“ But why? 1 am used to poor people,” said Virginia. 

Her sentences were short, because she was afraid of lei tins: her 
voice tremble; but she looked at him earnest^, and how could he 
tell her that many of the people whom she wished to benefit owed 
her family grudges deep enough to make her unwelcome within 
their walls, how betray to her that the revelations they might make 
to her would affect her relations to her own family more than she 
could hope to affect their lives in return. But Cheriton was never 
deaf to other people’s troubles, and he answered with great gentle- 
ness — 

“ Because wre’re a rough set up here in the North, and w ould 
scarcely understand' your kind motives. But the ghildren— I v^ish ' 
you could get hold of. them! 1 do wish something could be done 
for them. What did the old parson say to you?” 

“He said he didn’t approve of education.” 

“ Oh, that’s no matter at all! 1 declare I think 1 see how you 
might do it, and we’ll make the parson hunt up a class for you 
himself! What! you don’t believe me? You will see. Could you 
go down to the Vicarage on Sunday mornings?” 

“ Oh, yes! but Uncle James—” 

“ Oh, I’ll make him come round. They might send over some 
benches from Oakby, and the children would do very well in the 
Vicarage hall.” 

“ But, Cheriton,” exclaimed the astonished Virginia, “ you can’t 
know what my uncle said about it!” 

“ He said; ‘ Eh. they’re a bad lot. No use meddling with them,’ 
didn’t he?” said Cheriton, in the very lone of the old parson. 

“ Something like it.” 

“Nevermind. He w r oidd like to see them a better lot in his 
heart, as w r ell as you or 1 w r ould.” 

“ Ruth says he is really very kind,” said Virginia; “ and I think 
he means to be.” 

“ Ah, yes, your cousin knows all our odd ways, you know. She 
is with you?” 

“ Y"es, she came yesterday.” 

44 Ah, she knows that he is a veiy kind old boy. He loves every 
stone in Eldertliwaite, and you w ould be surprised to find how fond 
some of the people are of him. Now I’ll go and see him, and come 
and tell you what he says. May I?” 

“ To be sure,” said Virginia, 44 and perhaps then Aunt Julia Will 
not object. ’ ’ 

44 Oh, no, not to this plan,” said Cherry. 

He called Rolla, and w r ent in search of the parson. 

Cherry liked management; it was partly the inheritance of his 
father’s desire for influence, and partly his tender and genial nature, 
which made him take so much interest in people as to enjoy having 
a finger in every pie. As he walked along, he contrived every cur- 
tail of his plan. 

Jack was wont to observe that Elderth waite was a blot on the 


56 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


face of tlie earth, and a disgrace to any system, ecclesiastical or 
political, that rendered it possible. But then Jack was much de- 
voted to his young house- master, and wrote essays tor his benefit, 
one of which was entitled, “ On the Evils inherent in every existing 
Form of Government, ” so that he felt it consistent to be critical. 
Cheriton had a soft spot in his heart for a long-existing form of 
anything. 

He soon arrived at the Vicarage, a picturesque old house, built 
halt of stone and half of black "and white plaster. It was large, 
with great overgrown stables and farm buildings, all much out of 
repair. Cheriton found the parson sitting in the old oak dining- 
room before a blazing fire, smoking his pipe. Home remains of 
luncheon were on the table, and the parson w T as evidently enjoying 
a glass of something hot after it. Cheriton entered with’httle cere- 
mony. 

“ How d’ye do, parson?” he said. 

“Ha, Cherry! how d’ye do, my lad? Sit down and have some- 
lunch. What d’ye take? there’s a glass of port, in the sideboard.” 

“ Thanks, I’d rather have a glass of beer and some Stilton,” said 
Cherry, seating himself. 

As he spoke a little bit of an old woman came in with some cold 
pheasant and a jug of beer, which she placed before him. She was 
wrinkled up almost to nothing, but her steps were active enough, 
and she had lived with Parson Seyton all his life. 

“ Ay, Deborah knows your tastes. And what do you want of 
me?” 

“ 1 want to give you a lecture, parson,” said Cherry, coolly. 

“ The deuce you do? Out with it, then.” 

“ Virginia has been telling me that you will not let her teach the 
little kids on a Sunday.” 

“ Bless my soul, Cheriton! d’ye think I’m going to let the girt 
run all over the place and hear tales of her father and brothers, and 
maybe of myself into the bargain?” 

“ No,” said Cherry! “ but you ought to be very much obliged to 
her, parson. It’s a shame to see those little ruffians. Now you’re 
going to call on halt a dozen decentish people and tell them to send 
their children down here of a Sunday morning at ten o’clock. 
Virginia will teach them in the hall. I’ll get them to send over a 
couple of forms from Oak by. Don’t let her begin with above a 
dozen, and don’t have any big boys at first. Deborah might, give 
them a bit of cake now and again to make tlie lessons go down, 
Wliat do you say?” 

“ 1 say you’re the coolest hand in Westmoreland, and enough to 
wile the flounders out of the frith!” said the old parson, as Cherry 
peeped at him over his shoulder to see the effect of his words. 

“ What are we coming ro?” 

“ A model school, perhaps.” 

“ And a model parson. Eh, Cherry, these enlightened days can’t 
do with the old lot much longer.” 

“ Oh, you’re moving with the times,” said Cherry, as he came 
and stood with his back to the fire, looking down at the parson as 
he filled his pipe, and smiling at him. Perhaps no other being in 
the world could have got Parson Seyton to consent to such an in- 


57 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

novation, but he loved Cheriton Lester, who little knew how much 
self-respect the allegiance of liis high-principled promising youth 
was worth to the queer old sporting parson. One atom ot pretense 
or of priggishness in a well-conducted correct young man would 
have been ot all things odious to him, but the shrewd old man be- 
lieved in Cheriton to the backbone; and of all the admiration and 
affection that the popular young man had won perhaps none did him 
so much credit as the love that made him a sort of good angel to 
rough Parson Seyton. 

“You got my best dog out of me when I gave you Rolla,” he 
said, u so 1 suppose you’ll have your own way now.” 

“ And it’ll turn out quite as well as Rolla,” said Cherry, rather 
illogically. 

Parson Bey ton set about fulfilling his promise after .a manner of 
his own. 

He rapped with his dog-whip at a cottage door, and thus addressed 
the mother:— 

“ Eh, Betty, there’s a grand new. start in Elderthwaite. Here’s 
Miss Virginia going to turn all the children into first-rate scholars. 
Wash them up and send them over to my house on Sunday room- 
ing, and I’ll give a penny to the cleanest, and a licking to any one 
that doesn’t mind his manners.” 

If Parson Seyton had been a school-board visitor he could hardly 
have put the matter more plainly, and on the whole could hardly 
have adopted language more likely to be effectual. 


CHAPTER XL 

ALVAR CONFIDENTIAL. 

“ He talked of daggers and of darts, 

Of passions and of pains.” 

The rain had ceased, and long pale rays of sunshine were stream- 
ing through the mist as Cheriton made his way through a very 
dilapidated turnstile and across a footpath much in need of drainage 
toward Elderthwaite House. As he came up through the overgrow T n 
shrubberies he saw in front of him a small fur-clothed figure, and 
his color deepened and his heart beat faster as he recognized Ruth. 
He had been Blinking that he should see her ever since his promise 
to Virginia, but he had not expected to meet her out-of-doors on so 
wet a day, and he had hardly a word to say as he lifted his hat and 
came up to her. She was less discomposed, perhaps less astonished. 

“ Ah! how do you do?” she said. “ Do you know when I saw 
some one coming I hoped it might be your new brother. I am so 
curious to see him.” 

“ He is not a bit like any of us,” said Cherry. 

“ No? That would be a change, tor all you Lesters are so exactly 
alike.” 

Ruth had a way of saying saucy things in a soft serious voice, 
with grave eyes just ready to laugh. Cheriton and she had had 
many a passage of arms together, and now he rallied his forces and 
answered — 




AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


“ Being new, of course he’ll be charming. Rupert and Jack and 
1 will know all our partners are longing for him. But as he can 
only dance with one young ^lady at a time, in the intervals 1 shall 
hope— I am much improved m my waltzing— just to get a turn.” 

“ Really improved — at last?” said Ruth; then suddenly changing- 
to sympathy—” But isn’t it very strange tor you all? How do^you 
get on? How do you like him?” 

“ Oh, he isn’t half a bad fellow, and we’re excellent friends.” 

“ That’s very good of you. How 1 have such a bad disposition 
that if I were in your place I should be halt mad with jealousy.” 

Cheiiton laughed incredulously. 

“ I dare say you would stroke us all down the right way. Rupert 
says he teels as it he were lighting his cigar in a powder magazine. 
But they get on very well, and Grace and Mary Cheriton think him 
perfectly charming.” 

“ l think I shall come to the ball in a mantilla. But have you. 
done anything tor poor Virginia?” 

” Oh, yes; the old parson only wanted a little explanation,” said 
Cherry, quite carelessly enough to encourage Ruth in adding 
earnestly — 

” It is so good of her to want to help these poor people. Queenie 
is like a girl in a book. 1 really think she likes disagreeable 
duties.” 

‘‘1 am sure you, who can sympathize with Virginia, and yet 
know all the troubles, will be able to make it smooth for her. I 
wish you would.” 

“Ah, but 1 am not nearly so good as Virginia,” said Ruth— a 
perfectly true statement, which she herself believed. Whether she 
expected Cheriton to believe it was a different matter. 

Alvar had no excuse now for finding Oakby dull; the house was 
full of people, Lady Cheiitoa and her daughters were enchanted with 
his music, and he brightened up considerably, and was off Cheriton ’s 
mind, so that nothing spoiled the radiance of enjoyment that trans- 
figured all the commonplace gayety into a fairy dream. The younger 
ones found the times less good. Jack was shy and bored by fine 
people, Bob hated his dress clothes, Nettie was teased by Rupert, 
who varied between treating her as a tomboy and flattering her as 
an incipient beauty, and thought her grandmother’s restrictions to 
white muslin and J)lue ribbons hard. But Mrs. Lester had no 
notion of letting her forestall her career as a county beauty. 

When Cheriton came back from Elderthwaite he found the whole 
party by the hall fire in the full tide of discussion and chatter, 
Nettie on the rug with Buffer in her arms complaining of the white 
muslin. 

“ Sha’n’t I lock horrid, Rupert?” 

“Frightful; but as you’ll be sure to bring Buffer into the ball* 
room he’d tear anything more magnificent.” 

“I sha’n’t bring in Buffer! Rupert, what an idea! He’ll be 
shut up, poor darling! But at least 1 may turn up my hair, and 1 
shall. I’m quite tall enough.” 

“ Turn your hair up? Don’t you do anything of the sort, Nettie.. 
Little girls are fashionable, and yellow manes and muslin frocks 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


59 


will carry tbe day against wreaths and silk dresses. You let your 
liaii alone, and then people will know it’s all real by-and-by.” 

“ Well, I’d much rattier turn it up,” said N(ttie simply. 

” Well, perhaps 1 would,” said Rupert. ‘‘Fellows might say 
you let it down on purpose.” 

Rupert conveyed a great deal of admiration of the golden locks in 
his tone, but Nettie, though vain enough, was insensible to veiled 
flattery. 

“ Plait it up, Nettie,” said Cherry briefly. 

“ If anybody thought I did such a nasty, mean, affected thing as 
that 1 ’d never speak to him again. Never ! I’d cut it all on sooner,” 
cried Nettie. 

“ ¥oung ladies' hair does come down sometimes,” said Rupert; 
“ wflien it’s long enough.” 

“ Mine never shall,” said Nettie emphatically. 

“ Don’t do it yourselt, then,” said Cherry. 

“ If Nettie ever takes to horrid, affected, flirting ways,” said Jack, 
who had joined the party, ” 1 for one shall have nothing more to 
say to her. ’ ’ 

“You don't admire flirts, Jack?” said Rupert. 

” 1 don’t approve of them,” said Jack crossly. • 

” Oh, come, come, now, Jack, that’s very severe.” 

“Poor Jack!” said Cherry; “he speaks from personal experi- 
ence. There was that heartless girl last summer, who, after hours 
of serious conversation with him, went off to play croquet with Tom 
Hubbard, and gave him a moss-rose-bud. Poor Jack! it was a 
blow; he can’t recover from it! It has affected all his views of life, 
you see.” 

‘‘Poor fellow!” said Rupert, as Jack forcibly stopped Cherry’s 
mouth; ‘‘I’d no notion it was a personal matter. Will she be at 
the ball?” 

“No; you see, we avoided asking her.” 

“Cherry!” interposed the disgusted Jack, “how can you go on 
in this way! It’s all his humbug, Rupert.” 

This serious denial produced, of course, shouts of laughter— in 
the midst of which Alvar entered, and joined himself to the group 
round the fire as they waited for the arrival of some friends of 
Cheriton’s. 

“ And what have you been about?” asked Cherry. 

“ 1 have been singing with your cousins. Ah, it is pleasant when 
there are those who like music!” 

“ You found all these fellows awfful savages, didn’t you?” said 
Rupert. 

Alvar turned his great dark ej^es on Cheriton with the same sort 
of expression with which Rolla w r as wont to w r atck him. 

“ Ah, no,” he said; “ my brother is not a savage. But 1 do like 
young ladies.” 

“ But 1 thought,” said Rupert, “ that in Spain young ladies were 
always under a duenna, so that there was no chance of an afternoon 
over the piano?’.' 

“ But 1 assure you Miladi Cheriton was present,” said Alvar seri- 
ously. 

“ Oh, that alters the question!” said Rupert. “ But come, now. 




60 


AN ENGLISH SQUIliE. 


we have been hearing Jack's views— let us have your confessions. 
Is the duena always there, Alvar?” 

“ Here is my sister,*' said Alvar with the oddest sort of simplicity, 
and yet with a tone that conveyed a sort ot reproach to Kupert and 
— for the first time— ot proprietorship in Nettie. 

Rupert burst into a shout of laughter: “ My dear fellow, wliat 
are you going to tell us?” 

“She is a young girl; surely even here you do not say everything 
to her?” said Alvar, looking perplexed. 

“ By Jove, no!” said Rupert; “ not exactly.” 

“ Since Nettie is here, we should not have asked j T ou to tell us 
anything we did not wish her to hear,” said Clieriton, with a sense 
of annoyance that Alvar should be laughed at. 

“ You did not ask me,” said Alvar quietly. 

At this moment Bob called Nettie so emphatically, that she was 
obliged unwillingly to go away. 

“ Now then, Alvar,” said Rupert, '‘now for it. We won’t be 
shocked. Tell us how you work the duennas.” 

“It would not have been well to explain that to Nettie,” said 
Alvar seriously. 

“ Why not?” said Jack, suddenly boiling up. “ Do you think 
she would ever cheat or want a duenna? English girls can always 
be trusted!” 

“ Gan they?” said Rupert. “ Shut up, Jack; you don’t under- 
stand. We only want you to tell us how you do in Spain. Affaires 
du cceur — you know,. Alvar.” 

Alvar looked round with an air half shrewd, half sentimental; 
while Clieriton listened a little seriously'. He knew very little of 
Alvar’s former life; perhaps because he had been too reticent to ask 
him questions; perhaps because Alvar found himself in the pres- 
ence of a standard higher than he was accustomed to. Any way, 
Nettie might have heard his present revelations. 

“ There was a time,” he said, sighing, “ vrlien 1 did not intend to 
come to England— when 1 had sworn to be forever a Spaniard. Ah, 
mv cousin, if you had seen my Luisa, you would not have won- 
dered. I sung under her window; 1 went to mass that 1 might gaze 
on her. ” 

“ Did you now? Foreign customs!” interposed Rupert; while 
Cherry laughed, though he felt they were hardly treating Alvar 
fairly. 

“ I knew not how to speak to her. She was never alone; and it 
was whispered that she was already betrothed. But one day she 
dropped her fan.” 

“No, no— surely?” said Cherry. 

“ 1 seized it, 1 kissed it, 1 held it to my heart,” said Alvar, evi- 
dently enjoying the narration, “ and I returned it. There were 
looks between us — then words. Ah, 1 lived in her smiles. We 
met, we exchanged vows, and I was happy!” 

Rupert listened to this speech with amusement which he could 
hardly stifle. It was inexpressibly ludicrous to Clieriton ; but the 
fun was lost in the wonder whether Alvar meant wbat he said. This 
was neither like the joking sentiment nor the preiended indifference 
of an Englishman’s reference to such passages in'his life; yet the 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. Cl 

memory evidently cost Alvar no pain. Jack sat, looking totally 
disgusted. 

“ At last,!' Alvar went on, “ we were discovered. Ah, and then 
my grandfather was enraged, and her parents, they refused their 
consent, since she was betrothed already. * 1 am au Englishman, 
and 1 do not weep when I am grieved, but my heart was a stone. I 
despaired.” 

“ She must have been a horrid little flirt not to tell you she was 
engaged,” said Jack. 

“ She did not know it till we had met,” said Alvar. 

“ What awful tyranny 1” 

“ Ah, and she was your only love!” sighed Rupert. 

“ No,” said Alvar simply, “ 1 have loved others; but she was the 
most beautiful. But 1 submitted, and now 1 forget her!” 

” H’m— the truest wisdom,” said Rupert. 

Cherry was growing angry. - He did not think that Rupert had 
any business to make tun of Alvar, and he was in a rage with Al- 
var for making himself ridiculous. That Alvar should tell a true 
love-tale with sentimental satisfaction to an admiring audience, or 
sigh over a flirtation which ought to have been a good joke, was 
equally distasteful to him. He burst out suddenly, with all his 
Lester bluntness, and in a tone which Alvar had hitherto heard only 
from Jack — . . 

“ If you fellows are not. all tired of talking such intolerable non- 
sense, I am. It’s too bad of you,” with a sharp look at Rupert. ‘‘I 
don’t see that it’s any affair of ours.” 

V You’re not sympathetic,” said Rupert, as he moved away; for 
he was quite familiar enough with his cousins for such giving and 
taking. 


CHAPTER Nil. 

THE OAKBY BALL. 

“ She went to the ball, and she danced with the handsome prince.” 

That week of gay.ety, so unusual to Oakby, was fraught with 
great results. The dim and beautiful dream of the future which 
had growu with Cheriton Lester’s growth became a definite pur- 
poser Ruth Seyton was his first love, almost his first fancy. What- 
ever other sentiments and flirtations had come across him, had been 
as light as air; he had loved Ruth ever since he had taught her to 
ride, and since she had tried to teach him to dance. He had always 
found her leady to talk to him of the thoughts and aspirations 
which found no sympathy at home, and still more ready to tease 
him about them. She was part. of the dear and sacred home affec- 
tions, the long accustomed life which held so powerful a sway over 
him, and she was besides a wonderful and beautiful thing, peculiar 
to himself, and belonging to none of the others. 

lie had not seen her since the season when he had met her in 
town with Virginia; he did not know very much really about her, 
but she was kind and gracious to him, and he walked about in a 
dream of bliss which made every commonplace duty and gayety 
delightful. Ruth was mixed up in it all, it was all in her honor; 


€2 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


and though Cheriton’s memory at this time was not to be depended 
on, he had spirits for any amount of the hard work of preparation, 
and a laugh for every disagreeable. 

He regarded his tongue as tied till after he had taken his degree 
in the summer — he hoped with credit; after which his prospects at 
the bar, with Judge Cheriton’s interest, were somewhat less obscure 
than those of most young men. He had inherited some small fort- 
une from his mother, and though he could not consider himself a 
brilliant match for Miss Seyton, he- would then feel himself justified 
in putting his claims forward. Many spoke with admiration of the 
entire absence of jealousy which made him take the second place so 
easily; hut Cheriton hardly deserved the praise, he had no room in 
his mind to think of himself at all. 

His Cousin Rupert was a more recent acquaintance of Ruth’s,, 
though matters had gone much further between them. His atten- 
tions had not been encouraged by her grandmother, as, though his 
fortune was far superior to anything Cheriton possessed, his affairs 
were supposed to be considerably involved, and this was so far true, 
that it would have been very inconvenient to him to lay them open 
to inquiry at present. He hoped, however, in the course of a few 
months to be able so to arrauge them, as to make it possible to 
apply to Ruth Seyton’s guardians for their consent. 

Rupert was a lively, pleasant fellow, with a considerable regard 
lor his Oakby cousins, though he had never considered it necessary 
to regulate bis life by the Oakby standard., or concerned himself 
greatly with its main principles. His life in the army had of course 
been quite apart from Cheriton’s at school aud college, and the lat- 
ter did not care to realize how far the elder cousin, once a model in 
his eyes, had grown away from him. Nor did he regard him as a 
rival. 

Ruth gave smiles and dances to himself, and he little guessed 
that while he did his duty joyously in other directions, looking for- 
ward to his next word with her, she had given his cousin a distinct 
promise, and engaged to keep it secret till such time as he chose to 
ask for her openly. Perhaps Rupert could not be expected to scru- 
ple at such a step, when he knew how entirely Ruth had managed 
her affairs for herself in all her intercourse jvith him. 

And as for Ruth, she rejoiced in the chance of making a sacrifice 
to prove her love; and whether the sacrifice was of other people’s 
feelings, her own ease and comfort, or of any little trifling scruples 
of conscience, ought, she considered, to be equally unimportant. 
“ Love must still be lord of all,” but the love that loves honor more 
was in her eyes weak and uuworthy. Faults in the hero only proved 
the strength of his manhood; faults in herself were all condoned by 
her love. 

Ruth was clever enough to put into words the inspiring princi- 
ples of a great many books that she read, and a great deal of talk 
that she heard, and vehement enough to act up to it. Rupert, who 
had no desire to be at all unlike other people, had little notion of 
the glamour of enthusiasm with which Ruth plighted him her troth 
.at Oakby. 

The Lesters had expended much abuse on the morning of their 
ball on the blackness of the oak-panels, which no amount of wax 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


63 


candles would overcome, but what was lost in gayety was gained 
in picturesqueness, and the Oakby ball, with its handsome hosts anil 
its distinguished company, was long' quoted as the prettiest in the 
neighborhood. Perhaps it owed no little of its chaim to the one in 
whose honor it was given. Alvar in society was neither silent nor 
languid; he was a splendid dancer, and played the host with a for- 
eign grace that enchanted the ladies, old and young. At the din- 
ner party the night before he had been silent and stately, evidently- 
fearing to commit himself before the country genllemen and county- 
grandees, who were such strange specimens of humanity to him; but 
with their daughters it was different, and those were happy maid- 
ens who danced with the stranger. He was of course duly instructed 
wdiom he was thus to honor, but he found time to exercise his own 
choice, and Virginia w r as conscious that he paid her marked atten- 
tion. 

Why waste more words? She had found her fate, and softened 
with home troubles, attracted by Jthe superiority of the Lesters, and 
dazzled with the charm of a manner and appearance never seen 
before, yet suiting all her girlish dreams of heroic perfection, she 
was giving her heart away to the last man whose previous training 
or present character was likely really to accord with her own. 

Though she had never been an acknowledged beauty, she could 
often look beautiful, and .the subtle excitement of half-conscious 
triumph was not wanting to complete the charm. 

“ There never had been such a pleasant ball,” said Clieriton, the 
next morning, as he was forced to hurry away to Oxford without a 
chance of discussiug its delights. 

“ It is indeed possible to dance in England,” said Alvar. 

“ 1 think we made it out very well,” said Rupert, with a smile 
under his mustache. 

“ There are balls— and balls,” sard Ruth to her cousin. “You 
don’t always have black oak, or black Spanish eyes, eh, Queenie? 
or some other things?” 

And Virginia blushed and said nothing. 

Nettie, after all, had rejoiced in the partners of which her white 
frock and plaited hair had not defrauded her (she never should for- 
give her hair for coming down in Rupert’s very sight in the last 
waltz). Jack had not been so miserable as he expected; and Alvar 
found that it was possible to enjoy life in England, and that the 
position awaiting him there was not to be despised, even in the face 
of parting from his beloved Oheriton. 

Rupert by no means considered Alvar as an amusing companion, 
nor Oakby in the dull season an amusing place, but it suited him 
now to spend his leave there, and suited him also to be intimate at 
Elderthwaite. Consequently he encouraged Alvar to make excuses 
for going there, and certainly in finding some interests to supply 
Cheriton’s place. He cultivated Dick Seyton, who w^as of an age 
to appreciate a grown-up man’s attentions, so that altogether there 
vras more intercourse between the tWQ houses than had taken place 
since the days of Roland. 

Ruth was paying a long visit at Elderthwaite. One of her aunts 
—her grandmother’s youngest and favorite child — was in bad 
^health, and Lady Cheriton w T as glad to spend some time with her 


m 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

and to be free from the necessity of chaperoning her granddaugh- 
ter. The arrangement suited Ruth exactly. She could make Elder- 
thwaite her head-quarters, pay several visits among friends in the 
north, and find opportunities of meeting Rupert, whose regiment 
was stationed at York, and who was consequently within reach of 
many north-country gayeties. 

For the present no gayeties were needed by either to enliven the 
wiutry ’woods of Elderthwaite; they were as fairyland to th&liltle 
brown maiden wfio, among their bare stems and withered ferns 
found, as she believed, the very flower of life, and had no memory 
for the bewitching smiles, the soft, half- sentimental laughter, the 
many dances, and the preference hardly disguised which were the 
food of Cheriton’s memory, and gave him an object which lightened 
every uncongenial task. These little wiles had effectually prevented 
every one from guessing the real state of the case. Rupert’s diffi- 
culty was that he never could be sure how far A^ar was unsus- 
picious. There was a certain blankness in his way of receiving re- 
marks, calculated to prevent suspicion, which might proceed from 
entire innocence, or from secret observation which he did not choose 
to betray. But he w r as always willing to accompany Rupert to 
Elderthwaite, and in Cheriton’s absence found Virginia by far bis 
most congenial companion. 

The amount of confidence already existing between Ruth and her 
cousin really rendered the latter unsuspicious, and ready to further 
intercourse with Rupert, believing Ruth to be-in a doubtful state of 
mind, half encouraging and half avoiding his attentions. And 
Ruth was very cautious; she never allowed Rupert to monopolize 
her during his ostensible visits, and if any one at Elderthwaite 
.guessecUat their stolen interviews, it was certainly not Virginia. 

The scheme of the Sunday class had answered pretty well. Vir- 
ginia knew how to leach, and though her pupils were rough, the 
novelty of her grace and gentleness made some impression on them. 

The parson did not interfere with her, and it never occurred to 
her that he was within hearing, till one Sunday, as she tried to tell 
them the simplest facts in language sufficiently plain to be under- 
stood, and sufficiently striking to be interesting, and felt, by the 
noise on the back benches, that she was entirely failing to do so, a 
head appeared at the dining room door, and a stentorian voice ex- 
claimed— “ Bless my soul, you young ruffians; is this the way to 
behave to Miss Seyton? If any lad can’t show respect to a lady in 
my house, out he’ll go, and, by George! he won’t come in again.” 

This unwanted address produced an astonished silence; but it 
frightened the teacher so much more than her class, that her only 
resource was to call on the more advanced ones with great solem- 
nity “ to say their hymn to the vicar.” 

Parson Seyton straightened himself up, and listened in silence to — 

“ There is a green hill far away,” 

stumbled through in the broadest Westmoreland; and when it was 
over, remarked — 

“ Very pretty verses. Lads and lasses, keep your feet still and 
attend to Miss Seyton, and— mind — 1 can hear ye,” a piece of infor- 
mation with which Virginia at any rate could well have dispensed. 


65 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

But she was getting used to her rough uncle, and was grateful to 
Cheriton for the advice that he had given her, and so she told Alvar 
one day when they were all walking down to the Vicarage, with the 
ostensible purpose of showing Nettie some enormous mastiff pup- 
pies, the pride of the vicar’s heart. 

In the absence of her own brothers Nettie found Dick Seyton an 
amusing companion, “soft,” though he might be; she began by 
daring him to jump over ditches as well as she could, and ended by 
finding that he roused in her unsuspected powers of repartee. Net- 
tie found the Miss Ellesmeres dull companions; they w r ere a great 
deal cleverer than she w T as, and expected her to read story-books, 
and care about the people in them. Rupert and Dick found that 
her ignorance made her none the less amusing, and took care to tell 
her so. 

So everything combined to make intercourse easy; and this was 
not the first walk that the six young people had taken together. 

“ A our brother,” said Virginia to Alvar, “ was very kind to me. 
1 should never have got on so well but for his advice.” 

“ My brother is always kind,” said Alvar, his eyes lighting up. 
“ 1 can not tell you how well 1 love him.” 

“ 1 am sure you do,” said Virginia heartily, though unable to help 
smiling. 

“ But in what was it that he helped you?” asked Alvar. 

Virginia explained how he had persuaded her uncle to agree to 
her wishes about teaching the children. 

“ To teach the ignorant?” said Alvar. “ Ah, that is the work of 
a saint!” 

“ Oh, no! 1 like doing it. It is nothing but what many girls can 
do much better.” 

“ Ah, this country is strange. In Spain the young ladies remain 
at home. They go nowhere but to mass. If my sister were in 
Spain she would not jump over the ditches, nor run after the dogs,” 
glancing at Nettie, who was inciting Rolla to run for a piece of 
stick. 

“ Do you think us very shocking?” said Virginia demurely. 

“Nay,” said Alvar. “ These are your customs, and 1 am happy 
since they permit me the honor of walking by your side, and talk- 
ing with you. You, like my brother, are kind to the stranger.” 

“ But you must leave off calling yourself a stranger. You too 
are EnglishT*can you not feel yourself so?” 

“ Yes, I am an Englishman,” said Alvar. “ See, it 1 stay here, 1 
have money and honor. My father speaks to me of a ‘ position in 
the county.’ That is, to be a great man, as I understand it. Nor 
are there parties here to throw down one person, and then another. 
In Spain, though not less noble, we are poor, and all things change 
quickly, and 1 shall not stay always here in Oakby. 1 am going to 
London, and 1 see that 1 can make for myself a life that pleases 
me.” 

“ Yet you love Spain best ?” 

“ 1 love Spain,” said Alvar, “ the sunshine and the country; but 
I am no Spaniard. No, I stayed away from England because it was 
my belief that my father did not love me. I was wrong. I have a 
3 * 


66 


AK ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


light to be here; it was my right to come here long ago, and my 
right I will not give up!” 

He drew himself up with an indescribable air of hauteur for a 
moment, then with sudden softness— 

“ And w'ho was it that saw that right and longed for me to come, 
who opened his heart to me? It was Cheriton, my brother, tie 
has explained much to me, and says if l learn to love England it 
will make him happy. And 1 will love it for his sake.” 

“ I hope so; soon you will not find it so dull.” 

“ Nay, it is not now so dull. Have 1 not the happiness of your 
sympathy? Could I be dull to-day?” said Alvar, with his winning 
grace. 

Virginia blushed, and her great eyes drooped, unready with a re- 

ply. 

” And there is your cousin,” she said, shyly; “ he is a compan- 
ion; don't you think him like Cheriton?” 

“ Yes, a little; but Cheriton is like an angel, though he will not 
have me say so; but Rupert, he has the devii in his face. But 1 like 
him — he is a nice fellow — very nice,” said Alvar, the bit of English 
idiom sounding oddly in his foreign tones. 

Virgiuia laughed, spite of herself. 

“ Ah, 1 make you laugh,” said Alvar. “ i wish I had attended 
more to my English lessons; but there was a time when it was not 
my intention to come to England, and 1 did not study. 1 am not 
like Cheriton and Jack, I do not love to study. It is very pleasant 
to smoke, and to do nothing; but 1 see it is not the custom here, 
and it is better, 1 think, to be like my brother.” 

” Some people are rather fond of smoking and doing nothing even 
in England.” 

“It is a different, sort of doing nothing. I hear my father or 
Cheriton rebuke Bob for doing nothing; but then he is out ol doors 
with some little animal in a bag — his ferret, I think it is called — to 
catch the rats; or he runs and gets hot; that is what he calls doing 
nothing.” 

'lliere was a sort of l)onhom,ie in Alvar’s way of describing him- 
self and his surroundings, and a charm in his manner which, added 
to a pair of eyes full of fire and expression, and a great deal of im- 
plied admiration for herself, produced no small effect on Virginia. 

She saw that he was affectionate and ready to recognize the good 
in his brothers, and she knew that he had been deprived of liis due 
share of home affection. She did not doubt that he was willing him- 
self to do and to be all that he admired; and then — he was not boy 
ish and blunt like his brothers, nor so full of mischief as Cheriton, 
nor with that indescribable want of something that made her won- 
der at Rupert’s charm in the eyes of Ruth; she had never seen any 
one like him. 

She glanced up in his face with eyes that all unconsciously ex- 
pressed her thoughts, and as he turned to her with a smile tney 
came up to the Vicarage garden, at the gate of which stood Parson 
Sevton talking to Mr. Lester, who was on horseback beside him. 

‘‘Ha, squire,” said the parson, ‘‘ Monsieur Alvar is a dangerous 
fellow among the lasses. Black eyes and foreign ways had made 
havoc with hearts all the world over.” 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


67 


Mr. Lester looked toward ttie approaching group. Virginia’s del- 
icate face, shy and eager under drooping feathers, and the tall, 
slender Alvar, wearing his now scrupulously English morning suit 
with a grace that gave it a picturesque appropriateness, were in 
front. Ruth and Rupert lingered a little, and Nettie came running 
up from behind, with Rolla after her, and Dick Seyton lazily call- 
ing on ner to stop. Mr. Lester iooked at his son, and a new idea 
struck him. 

“ 1 wish Alvar to make acquaintances,” he said. “ Nothing but 
English society can accustom him to his new life.” 

Here Alvar saw them, and raised his hat as he came up. 

“ Have you had a pleasant walk, Alvar?” said his father, less 
stiffly than usual. 

‘‘It has been altogether pleasant, sir,” said Alvar, ‘‘since Miss 
Seyton has been my companion.” 

Virginia blushed, and went up to her unde with a hasty question 
about the puppies that Nettie was to see, and no one exchanged a 
remark on the subject; but that night as they were smoking, Ru- 
pert rallied Alvar a little on the impression he was making. 

Alvar did not misunderstand him; he looked at him straight. 

“ 1 had thought,” he said, “ that it was here the custom to talk 
with freedom to young ladies. I see it is your practice, my 
cousin.” 

“ Yes, yes. Besides, I’m an old friend, you see. Of course it is 
the custom; but consequences sometimes result from it — pity if they 
didn’t.” 

‘‘ But it may be,” said Alvar, “ that as my father’s son, it is ex- 
pected that 1 should marry if it should be agreeable to my father?” 

“Possibly,” said Rupert, unable to resist tiying experiments. 
“ Fellows with expectations have to be careful, you know.” 

“ 1 thank you,” said Alvar. “ But I do not mistake a lady who 
has been kind to me, or I should be a coxcomb. Good-night, my 
cousin.” 

“ Good-night,” said Rupert, feeling somewhat baffled, and a little 
angry; for, after all, he had been perfectly right**** 


CHAPTER XIII. 

TWO SIDES OF A QUESTION. 

“ Love me and leave me not.” 

The hill that lay between Oakby and Elderthwaite was partly 
covered by a thick plantation of larches, through which passed a 
narrow footpath, lu the summer, when the short turf under the 
trees was dry and sweet, when the blue sky peeped through the 
widespreading branches, and rare green ferns and blue harebells 
nestled in the low stone walls, the larch wood was a favorite resort; 
but iu the winter, when the moorland winds were bleak and cold 
rather than fresh and free, when the fir-trees moaned and howled 
dismally instead of responding like harps to the breezes, before, in 
that northern region, one “ rosy plumelet tufted the larch,” or one 
lamb was seen out on the fell side, it was a dreary spot enough. 


68 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


All the more undisturbed had it been, aud therefore all the more 
suitable for the secret meetings of Rupert and Ruth. Matters had not 
always run smooth between them. An unacknowledged tie needs 
faith and self-restraint if it is to sit easily; and at their very last 
parting Rupert expressed enough jealousy at the remembrance of 
Cheriton's attentions to make Ruth furious at the implied doubt of 
her faith, forgetting that she was miserable it be played with Nettie, 
or talked for ten minutes to Virginia. 

Rupert insisted that “ Cherry meant mischief. ” Ruth vehemently 
asserted “ that it wasn’t in him to mean;” and after something that 
came perilously near a quarrel, she broke into a flood of tears, and 
they parted with renewed protestations of inviolable constancy, and 
amid hopes of chance meetings in the course of the spring. 

Ruth fled away through the copses to Elderthwaite feeling as it 
life would be utterly blank and dark till Iheir next meeting; and 
Rupert strolled homeward, thinking much ot Ruth, and not best 
pleased to meet his uncle coming back from one of his farms, and 
evidently inclined to be sociable; for Rupert, as compared with 
Alvar, had an agreeable familiarity. 

Mr. Lester, though he held as little personal intercourse with 
Alvar as the circumstances of the case permitted, had hardly ceased, 
since he came home, to think of his future, and that with a con- 
scientious effort at justice and kindness. He still felt a personal 
distaste to Alvar, which ruffled his temper, and often made him less 
than civil to him; but none the less did he wish his eldest son’s career 
to be creditable and fortunate, nor desire to see him adapt himself 
to the pursuits likely to be required of him. He made a few attempts 
to instruct him and interest him in the county politics, the require- 
ments of the estate, and the necessities ot the parish; but Alvar, it 
must be confessed, was very provoking, He was always courteous, 
but he never exerted his mind to take in anything that was strange 
to him, and would say, with a shrug of his shoulders and a smile, 
“Ah, these are the things that I do not understand;” or, as he 
picked up the current expressions, “ It is not in my line to interest 
myself for the pfc&ple,” wilh a ndimte that refused to recognize 
any duty one way or the other, in short, he was quite as impervi- 
ous as his brothers to anything “out of his line,” and, like Mr. 
Lester himself, thought that what he did not understand was im- 
material. 

Mr. Lester was in despair; but when he saw Alvar and Virginia 
together, and noticed their mutual attraction, it occurred to him 
that an English wife would be the one remedy for Alvar's short- 
comings; and he also reflected, with some pride in his knowledge of 
foreign customs, that A lvar would probably require parental sanc- 
tion before presuming to pay his addresses to any lady. 

As for Virginia, though she was of Seyton blood, all her training 
had been away from her family; her fortune w T as not inconsiderable, 
and she herself, enthusiastic, refined, and high-minded, was exactly 
the type of woman in which Mr. Lester believed. Besides, since he 
could not make Alvar other than the heir of Oakby, his one wish 
was that his grandchildren at least should be English. He w T as 
very reluctant that Alvar should return to Spain, and at the same 
time hardly wished him to be a permanent inmate of Oakby. It. 


69 


'*AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

had been arranged that Alvar should pay a short visit to the Cheritons 
beiore Easter, when he would see what London was like, go to see 
Cherry at Oxford, and having thus enlarged his experiences, would 
return to Oakby lor Easter and the early part of the summer. 

After Cheriton had taken his degree, he too would enjoy a taste 
ot the season, and Alvar might go to town again it he liked; while 
in August Alvar must be introduced to the grouse, and might also 
see the fine scenery of the Scotch and English lakes. These were 
plans in which Alvar could find nothing to complain of; but they 
would be greatly improved in his father’s eyes if they could end in 
a suitable and happy marriage; for he saw that Alvar could not re- 
main idle at Oakby for long, and had the firmest conviction that he 
would get into mischief, if he set up for himself in London. His 
mind, when he met Rupert, was full of the subject, and with a view 
to obtaining a side-light or two if possible, he asked him casually 
what he thought of his cousin Alvar, and how they got on together. 

“ 1 don’t think he is halt a bad fellow,” said Rupert, “ a little stiff 
and foreign, of course, but a very good sort in my opinion.” 

This was well meant on Rupert’s pait, for he did not personally 
like Alvar, but he had tact enough to see the necessity of harmony, 
and family feeling enough to wish to produce it. 

“ Of course,” said Mr. Lester, “ you can understand that 1 have 
been anxious about his coming here among the boys.” 

“ 1 don’t think he’ll do them any harm, sir.” 

“ No; and except Cheiry, they don’t take to him very warmly ; but 
I hope we may see him seitle into an Englishman in time. A good 
wife now— ” 

“Is a eery good thing, uncle,” said Rupert, with a conscious 
laugh. 

“ Yes, Rupert, in a year or two’s time you’ll be looking out for 
yourself.” 

“ Rupert liked his uncle, as he had always called him, and for a 
moment, was half inclined to confide in him; but he knew that Mr. 
Lester’s good offices would be so exceedingly energetic, and would 
involve such thorough openness on his own part, that though his 
marriage to Ruth might possibly be expedited by them, he could 
not face the reproofs by which they would be accompanied. 

So he laughed, and shook his head, saying, “ Excellent advice for 
Alvar, sir; and see, there he comes.” 

Alvar approached his father with a bow ; but was about to join 
Rupert, as he turned off by another path, when Mr. Lester detained 
him 

“ 1 should like a word or two with you,” he said, as they walked 
on. “ I think— it appears to me that you are beginning to feel more 
at home with us than at first.” 

“ ^es, sir, 1 know better how to suit myself to you.” 

“lam uncommonly glad of it. But what 1 meant to say was — 
you don’t find yourself so dull as at first?” said Mr. Lester, rather 
awkwardly. 

“ it is a little dull,” said Alvar, “ but 1 can well endure it.” 

This was not precisely the answer which Mr. Lester had expected; 
but after a pause, he went on — 

“ It would be hard to blame you because you do not take kindly 


70 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

to interests and occupations that are so new to you. 1 do not feel, 
Alvar, that I have the same right to dictate your way ot life as I 
should have, if 1 had earlier assumed the charge ot you; but I 
would remind you that since one day you must be master here, it 
will be for your own happiness to— to accustom yourself to the life 
required of you.” 

“ My brother ought fo be the squire,” said Alvar. 

44 That is impossible. It is not a matter of choice; but it would 
cause me great unhappiness it 1 thought my successor would either 
be constantly absent or— or indi derent to the welfare of the people 
about him.” 

44 You would wish me,” said Alvar, 44 to live in England, and to 
marry an English lady.” 

4 4 Why, yes — yes. Not of course that I would wish to put any 
restraint on your inclinations, or even to suggest any line of con- 
duct; but it had occurred to me that — in short, that you find Elder- 
tli waite attractive, and 1 wished to tell you that such a choice would 
have my entire approval.” 

Mr. Lester’s florid face colored with a sense of embarrassment: 
he was never at his ease with his son, whereas Alvar only looked 
considerate, and said thoughtfully — 

44 Miss Seyton is a charming young lady.” 

“Very much so, indeed,” said the squire; 44 and a very good 
girl.” 

Alvar walked on in silence. Probably the idea was not strange 
to him; but his father could not trace the workings of his mind, and 
a sense of intense impatience possessed him with this strange creat- 
ure whose interests he was bound to consult, but whose nature he 
could hot fathom. 

Suddenly Alvar stopped. 

44 My father, 1 have chosen. This is my country, and Miss Seyton 
— it she will — shall be my wife.” 

44 Well, Alvar, I’m very glad to hear it,” said his father, 44 very 
glad indeed, and I’m sure Cheriton will be delighted. Don’t, how 
ever, act in a hurry; I'll leave you to think it over. 1 see James 
Wilson, and I want to speak to him.” 

And Mr. Lester called to one of the keepers who was coming 
across the park, while Alvar went on toward the house. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Virginia’s choice. 

M Things that I know not of, belike to thee are dear." 

There was the shadow of such a thought on the blushing face of 
Virginia Seyton as she sat in a gTeat chair in the old drawing-room 
at Elderthwaite, and listened to the wooing of Alvar Lester. She 
held a bouquet on her lap, and he stood, bending forward, and ad- 
dressing her in language that was checked by no embarrassment, 
and with a simplicity of purpose which had sought no disguise. 
Alvar had reflected on his father’s hints over many a cigarette, he 
had thought to himself that he was resolved to be an Englishman, 


n 


A^T ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

that Miss Seyton was charming and attractive beyond all other 
ladies, it was ’well that he should ma*ry, and he would be faithful, 
courteous, and kind. 

Assuredly he was prepared to love her, she made England pleasant 
to him, and he had no strong ties to the* turbulent life of Spain, 
from which his peculiar circumstances and his natural indolence 
had alike held him aloof. He had no thought of giving less than 
was Virginia’s due, it was a simple matter to him enough, and he r 
had come away that morning with no false shame as to his inten- 
tions, with a flower in his coat and flowers in his hand, and had de- 
manded Miss Seyton’s permission to see her niece, heedless how tar 
both households might guess at the matter in hand. 

With his dark, manly grace, and tender accents, he was the pict- 
ure of a lover, as she, with her creamy skin rose-tinted, and her 
fervent eyes cast down, seemed the very type of a maiden wooed, 
and by a favored suitor. But if the hearts of this graceful and well- 
matched pair beat to the same tune, the notes for each had very 
different force, and the experiences and the requirements of each 
had been, and must be, utterly unlike those of the other. 

Alvar recognized this, in its obvious outer fact, when lie began — 

“ 1 have a grfcat disadvantage,” he said, “ since 1 do not know 
how best to please an English lady when I pay her my addresses. 
Yet 1 am bold, for I come to-day to ask you to forget 1 am a 
stranger, and to help me to become truly an Englishman. Of all 
ladies, you are to me the most beautiful, the most beloved. Can 
you grant my wish— my prayer? Can 1 have the happiness to please 
you — Virginia?” 

Virginia’s heart beat so fast that she could not speak, the large 
eyes flashed up for a moment into his, then dropped as the tears 
dimmed them. 

“ Ah; do 1 make you shed tears?” cried Alvar. “ How shall 1 
tell you how 1 will be your slave? Mi doTla, mireina! — nay, I must 
find English words to say you are the queen of my life!” and he 
knelt on one knee beside her, and took her hand. 

Perhaps it was all the more enchanting that it was unlike a 
modern English girl’s ideal of a likely lover. 

“Please don’t do that,” said Virginia, controlling her emotion 
with a great effort. “ I want to say something, if you would sit 
down.” 

With ready tact Alvar rose at once, and drew a chair near her. 

“ it is my privilege to listen,” he said. 

“It is that 1 am afraid 1 must be very different from the girls 
whom you have known. My ways, my thoughts, you might not 
like them; you might wish me to be different from myself — or 1 
might not understand you,” she said very timidly. 

“ In asking a lady to he my wife, I think of no other woman,” 
said Alvar. “ In my eyes you are all that is charming.” 

“This would not have "occurred to me,” said Virginia; “hut 
since I came home 1 have not been very happy, because it is so hard 
to accommodate one’s self to people who think of everything differ- 
ently from one’s self. It that was so with us— with you—” 

“Xv thoughts shall be your thoughts,” said Alvar. “ You shall 
teach me to be what you wish— what my brother is. 1 know well,” 


72 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


and lie rose to liis feet again and stood before her, “ 1 am not clever, 
1 do not know how to do those things (lie English admire; my face, 
my speech, is strange. Is that my fault; is it my fault that my fa- 
ther has hated and shunned his son? Miss Seyton, 1 can but offer 
you myself. If I displease you—” 

Alvar paused. Virginia had been pleading against herself, and 
before his powerful attraction her misgivings nlelted away. She 
rose too, and came a step toward him. 

“ 1 will trust you,” she said; and Alvar, more moved than he 
could himself have anticipated, poured forth a torrent of loving 
words and vows 1o be, and to do all she could wish. But he did 
not know, he did not understand, what she asked of him or what he 
promised. 

' 4 But we must be our true selves to each other,” she said after- 
ward, as they stood together, when he had won her to tell him that 
his foreign face and tones were not displeasing to her— not at all. 
No, she did not wish that he was more like his brothers. 

“ 1 will be always your true lover and your slave,” said Alvar, 
kissing the hand that she had laid on his. “ And now must 1 not 
present myself to your father? He will not, hope, think the 
foreigner too presuming.” 

“ There is papa,” said Virginia, glancing out of the window; “ he 
is walking on the terrace. Look, you can go out by this glass 
door.” And leaving Alvar to encounter this far from formidable 
interview, she ran away up to the little oak room in search of her 
cousin. 

There were tears in Ruth’s great velvety eyes as she turned to 
meet her, but she was smiling, too, and even while she held out her 
arms to Virginia, she thought — “ What, jealous of the smooth 
course of her little childish love! I would not give up one atom of 
what I feel for all the easy consent and prosperity in the world.” 
But none the less was she interested and sympathetic as she listened 
to the outpourings of Virginia’s first excitement, and to the recital 
of feelings that were like, and yet unlike, her own. 

“ You see, Ruthie, 1 could not help caring about him, he was so 
gentle and kind, and he never seemed angry with the others for mis- 
understanding him. But then I thought that our lives had been so 
wide apart that he might be quite different from what he seemed; 
and one has always heard, too, that foreigners pay compliments, 
and don’t mean what they say.” 

“ 1 should have despised you, Queenie, it you had thrown over 
the man you love because he was half a foreigner.” 

“ Oh, no, not tor that. But I didn’t — I hadn’t begun to — like 
him very much then , you see, Ruth. And if he had not been 
good—” 

“ And how have you satisfied yourself that he is what you call 
4 good ’ now?” said Ruth curiously. 

“Of course,” replied Virginia, “it is not as if he had been 
brought up in England. He can not have the same notions. But 
then lie can not talk enough of Chert’s goodness, aud seemed so 
grateful because he was kind to him. Cherry is a very good, kind 
sort of fellow of course; but don’t you think there is something 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 73 

beautiful in the humility that makes so much of a little kindness, 
and recognizes good qualities so ungrudgingly?” 

Ruth laughed a little. Perhaps she thought Alvar’s ‘‘bonny 
black eyes ” had something to do with the force of these arguments. 
“ Since you love each other,” she said, “ that is a proof that you 
are intended ior each other. What does it matter * what he is like,’ 
as you say?” 

“ But 4 what he is like ’ made all the difference in the first in- 
stance, I suppose?” said Virginia. 

“ Perhaps,” said Ruth, with a little shrug. “ But now you have 
once chosen, Virginia, nothing ought to make you change, not it he 
were ever so wicked— not if he were a murderer!” 

“Ruth,” exclaimed Virginia, “how can you be so absurd! A 
murderer!” 

“ A murderer, a gambler, or a — well, I’m not quite sure about a 
thief,” said Ruth, cooling down a little; and then the girls both 
laughed, and Virginia sunk into a dreamy silence. She did not even 
yet know the story of her mother’s married life, or she could not 
have laughed at the thought of a gambler for her husband; but she 
did not know enough of her family history to give definiteness to 
the natural desire of a high-principled girl to find perfection in her 
lover. Virginia’s nature inclined to hero-worship; reverence was 
a necessary part to her ot a happy love. She had thought often to 
herself that she would never marry a man of whose good principles 
she was not satisfied. And since Alvar’s offer had not entirely 
taken her by surprise — his gallantry having been tenderer than he 
knew — she had considered the point with an effort at impartiality, 
and had justified the conclusion to which her heart pointed by 
Alvar’s admiration for the brother, whom, in Virginia’s opinion, he 
idealized considerably. Ot course, if she had chosen wisely, it was 
instinct, and not knowledge, that led her aright. She knew. abso- 
lutely nothing of Alvar; and just as from insufficient grounds she 
now gave him credit for many virtues, it might be that, when the 
differing natures jarred, a little failure, a little defectiveness, might 
make her judgment cruelly hard, at whatever cost to her own hap- 
piness. 

It might come to a struggle between the girl’s ideal and the wom- 
an’s love — and in such a struggle compromises and forgiveness and 
new knowledge on either side would lead to final comprehension f 
and peace. But it comes sometimes to a fight between heart and ' 
soul, between the higher self and the love that seems stronger than 
seff. To this extremity Alvar Lester was not likely to drive anj r 
woman ; but impatience and inexpeiience sometimes mistake the one 
contest for the other. Virginia would have something to bear, he 
much to learn, before mutual criticism ceased, as they became indeed 
part of each other’s existence, before Virginia’s flutter of startled 
joy subsided into unquestioning content. 

“ You talk, Ruthie,” exclaimed Virginia, after a little more con- 
fidential chatter, 44 but you can not make up your own mind. You 
can not decide whether you will have poor Captain Lester.” 

“ Hark! hark!” cried Ruth, “ they are calling you! Every one 
is not so lucky as you.” And as Virginia obeyed her father’s sum- 
mons, and she was left alone, she pulled out the locket that con- 


74 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

tained Rupert’s portrait, kissed it passionately, and exclaimed, half 
aloud — 

“ Not make up my mind ! Do I doubt and hesitate? WRat do I 
care ‘ what you are like,’ my darling? I love you with all my heart 
and soul! 1 love you — 1 love you! What would life be without 
love?” 

The congratulations of Virginia’s family on the occasion were 
characteristic. Her father had but a nominal consent to give. Vir- 
ginia was of age, and besides, the trustees of her fortune could not 
of course take any exception to such an engagement; but he re- 
joiced exceedingly, as at the first good and happy thing that had 
happened in his family for long enough. 

“ And so you have got a husband, though you are a Seyton?” 
said her aunt. “ Well, Roland’s a long way oil, and 1 don't sup- 
pose Dick and Harry can create scandal enough to put an end to it 
before nexl October.” 

‘ But you’ll give me a kiss, auntie?” said Virginia; and in the 
warmth of her embrace she tried to show the sympathy for that 
long past wrong which she never would have dared to utter. 

Miss Seyton was silent for a moment, and patted her soft hair; 
then suddenly, with an expression indescribably matin and elfish, she 
said, “ And ail those poor little neglected children, whose souls you 
were going to save, what will become of them when you are mar- 
ried? Do you think your uncle will teach them himself?” 

44 And 1 shouldn’t be surprised il he did, Aunt Julia,” interposed 
Ruth briskly, 44 now Virginia has shown him the way.” 

Parson Seylon’s remark was somewhat to the same effect, though 
made in a more genial spirit. 

44 Well, my lass, so you’ve caught the Frenchman?* Why didn’t 
you set your cap at Cherry? He’s worth a dozen of him.’’ 

44 Cherry didn’t set his cap at me, uncle,” said Virginia, laugh- 
ing. 

44 And all the little lads and lasses? Ha, ha, 1 must set about 
learning the catechism myself. What’s to be done, my queen?— 
what’s to be done? Send away Monsieur Alvar; we can’t do without 
you.” 

Virginia had not forgotten the children; but as her marriage was 
not to take place till the late autumn, there was no immediate ques- 
tion of her leaving them. 

Mr. Lester thought that it would be far better that Alvar should 
see something of England before his marriage, and Alvar acquiesced 
readily in his father’s wish; and he very shortly left Oakby for 
London, after receiving congratulations frgm his brothers, in which 
astonishment was the pievailing ingredient, though Cheriton 
softened his surprise with many expressions of satisfaction. 

He was glad that Alvar had chosen an English wife; still more 
glad that he had no disposition to choose Ruth. 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


75 


CHAPTER XV. 

A BIT OF THE BLARNEY. * 

“ With him there rode his sone, a younge squire, 

A lovyere and a lusty bachelere. 1 ’ 

In that year Easter fell very late, and it was nearly the end of 
April before the Lesters gathered together once more at Oakby. 
Alvar and Virginia had hardly had time to grow accustomed to their 
new relations to each other before the former went to London, where 
he perhaps adapted himself more easily to his surroundings than he 
would have done in the presence of his father and brothers. He 
found that all English people did not regard life precisely from the 
Oakby point of view; that Lady Cheriton greatly regretted that 
Nettie was such a tomboy, and almost feared that Bob would never 
be fit for polite society* 

He was introduced to people who thought his music enchanting 
and his foreign manners charming; he was allowed to be on cousin- 
ly terms with the Miss Cheritons, and was an object of exciting in- 
terest to every young lady who met him. Under these circum- 
stances he was very well content, and dispatched graceful and tender 
letters to Virginia, which often had an amusing naivete in their 
details of his impressions of English life. He also sent her various 
offerings, ornaments, sweetmeats, and flowers, always prettily 
chosen, and commended to her notice by some pleasant bit of ten- 
der flattery. His engagement was of course generally known, but 
his soit words and softer looks, though too universal to be delusive, 
were doubtless none the less attractive from the fact that his foreign 
breeding offered a constant cause and excuse for them. 

Virginia, on her side, it need hardly be said, wrote him many let- 
ters, full of thoughts, feelings, and hopes, and sometimes requests 
f >r his opinion on any subject that interested her. Alvar’s replies 
were so charming, so flattering, and so tender, that she hardly 
found out that they were in no sense answers to her own. 

He made a very great point of going to Oxford, and was full of 
excitement at the prospect of meeting “ my brother ” again. Cheri- 
ton, however, had lost some time by his idle Christmas vacation, 
and was forced to work very hard to make up for it. He had al- 
ways too many interests in life to make it easy to concentrate all his 
efforts in one direction; but now the ambition and love of distinc- 
tion that were a constant stimulus to the idle Lester nature in him- 
self and Jack were fairly alight. 

Cheriton cared for success in itself, he was too sweet-natured to 
resent failure, and conscientious enough to know that his love of 
triumph might be a snare to him, but each object in its turn seemed 
to him intensely desirable. He could not feel, and even prevailing 
fashion made it difficult for him to affect indifference. Besides, he 
wanted to appear in the light of a young man likely to succeed in 
life before Ruth’s relations. So he wrote that he hoped Alvar would 
not think it unkind if he asked him to pay him only a short visit; 
and Alvar was half consoled by hearing the judge speak in high 


76 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

terms of Ills nephew as a brilliant young man and likely to do them 
all credit. 

“Ah,” said Alvar, “I fear 1 should have done my name no 
credit it I, like my brother, had none to Oxford.” 

“You are aft eldest son, my dear fellow, and 1 don’t doubt that 
you should have kept up the family traditions,” said Judge Cheri- 
ton dryly. 

So Alvar went for one dav to Oxford, where he showed an over- 
powering delight at seeing Cherry again, and a reprehensible pref- 
erence for pouring out to him his various experiences, to inspecting 
chapels and halls. He greeted Buffer respectfully, and taxed Cheriton 
with overworking himself. He looked pale, he said, and thin— not 
as he did at Oakby. 

Cherry only laughed at him, but insisted emphatically that lie 
should say no word at home of any such impression, as perhaps he 
should stay up and read during the Easter vacation. 

“ But what shall I do,” said Alvar, “ when the boys, who do not 
like me, come home, and you are not there?” 

“ You — why, you will be all day at Elderthwaite.” 

“ 1 shall never forget my brother who was kind to me first,” said 
Alvar earnestly. 

Alvar finished up his London career by going to see the boat 
race, where he was exceedingly particular to appear in Oxford 
colors, and felt as if the triumph of the dark blue was Cherry’s 
own. 

Easter week brought unwontedly soft airs and blue skies to 
Oakby, and, after all, Cheriton himself for a few days’ holiday. 
Every one rejoiced at the sight of him, though Jack promptly told 
him that he was very foolish to waste time by coming, and when 
Cherry owned that he wanted a little rest, grudgingly admitted 
that he might be wise to take it; then seized upon him, first to dis- 
cuss with him the work he himself was doing with a view to a 
scholarship for which he meant to compete at midsummer; then 
demanded an immediate settlement, from Cherry’s point of view, 
of several important and obscure philosophical questions; and 
finally confided to him a long history of Bob’s scrapes and deficien- 
cies during the past term. 

He was so low in the school — he got in with such a bad lot— he 
ought to leave school and go to a tutor’s. He, Jack, had told him 
he was going straight to the bad, but had done no good. Would 
Cherry give him a good blowing-up? Then Mr. Lester, having 
had a letter from the head- master, wanted to consult him on this 
very point, as well as to tell him all the story of Alvar’s courtship 
and his own diplomatic behavior. Also to regret that Alvar would 
not take the trouble to understand the details of English law as 
applied to local matters; could not see why Mr. Lester, as a magis- 
trate, was prevented from transporting a poacher for life, or why, 
as an owner of land, he thought it necessary to be so particular as 
to the character of his tenants. Then an attempt at peacemaking 
with and for Bob, which resulted in little more than a persistent 
growl “ that Jack was an awful duffer.” 

Altogether the family did not seem in a restful state. Mrs. Lester 
was very indignant because Mrs. Ellesmere had observed that Nettie 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


IV 

i 

was growing too tall a girl to go about so much by herself. “ Who 
w r as there that did not know Nettie in all the country-side?’’ While 
Bob and Nettie themselves, who usually hung together in every- 
thing, especially when either was in trouble, had an inexplicable 
quarrel, which made neither of them pleasant company for their 
elders. 

Then Mr. Lester’s affairs came forward again in the shape of a 
dispute with one of his chief farmers about a certain gate which 
had been planted in the wrong place, involving a question of bound- 
aries and rights of way, and engaging Mr. Lester in a difference of 
opinion with a new neighbor, “a Radical feilo’w from Sheffield, ” 
whom Mr. Lester would neither have injured nor been intimate with 
for the world. Alvar had the misfortune to observe that “ he 
thought it was not worth while to be so distressed about the post of 
a gate,” an indifference even mo:e provoking than the misplaced 
ardor of Jack, who had taken upon himself to examine the matter, 
and believing his father mistaken, thought it necessary to say so, 
which might have been passed over as a piece of youthful folly, if 
there had not been a frightful suspicion that Mr. Ellesmere was of 
the same opinion. 

Cherry had heard enough of the “ post of a gate ” by the time 
he had read half a dozen letters of polite indignation, and list- 
ened to an hour’s explanation from his father of the grounds of the 
dispute, after which he was requested to form an independent opin- 
ion on the subject. 

“ Well, father,” he said, looking askance at a plan of the scene 
of action which Mr. Lester had drawn for his benefit, “ it seems 
that the removal of this gate has mixed up Ashrigg, Oakby, and 
Eldertliwaite to such a degree that w T e slia’n’t know who is living 
in w r hich. Of course Alvar can't see any boundaries between 
Oakby and Eldertliwaite just now. How should he? His imagina- 
tion leaps over them at once. But I don't think it will ‘ precipitate 
the downfall of the landed gentry,’ Jack, whichever way it is set- 
tled.” And having thus succeeded in making his father and Alvar 
laugh, and Jack remark “ that he never could see the use of mak- 
ing a joke of everything,” he asked Mr. Lester to come and show 
him the fatal spot. Couldn’t they ride over and look at it? 

“And I have never seen you yet,” said Alvar reproachfully, 
when Mr. Lester had acceded to this arrangement. 

“ But you are going to Eldertliwaite? 1 will come and meet you 
there. And, look here, the weather is so fine 1 am sure we might 
all join forces and make an excursion somewhere. Wouldn’t that 
be blissful ?” 

“Ah, you make sport of me!” said Alvar; but he promised to 
propose the plan at Eldertliwaite. 

So Cheiiton and his father rode through the bright spring lanes 
together, like Chaucer’s knight and squire, with the larks singing 
in the furrows, and the blue sky overhead, the sunshine full of 
promise and joy, even in the wild, bleak couutry, whose time of 
perfection never came till the purple heather clothed the bare moor- 
lands tnd the summer months had had time to chase away all 
thought of the long, dreary winter. Every breath of the air of the 
hill-side was like new life to Cherry. 


78 


A.N ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ It is so delightful to be at home,” he said; “ it’s impossible to 
be very angry about 4 the post of a gate.’ ” 

Perhaps this happy humor contributed no small share toward the 
harmonious ending of the scene which Cherry described quaintly 
enough when he presented himself at Elderthwaite in the after- 
noon. How on arriving at (he scene of action they had found 
Farmer Fleming and the fellow from Sheffield both engaged in dis- 
cussing the point; how Mr. Wilson had expressed his readiness to 
put up two gates if that would settle the matter, but he cauld not 
be dictated to on his own land; how Mr. Fleming’s view of the 
matter seemed to consist in a constant statement of the fact that ne 
bad been the squire’s tenant all his life, and his father before him; 
how the squire had remarked that Mr. Fleming’s father, he was 
sure, would have known well that tlidse four feet of land were com- 
mon land, and half in Oakby and half in Ashrigg parish, Elder- 
thwaite bordering Chem on tire south, and that be, as Lord of the 
Manor, could not allow them to be inclosed; Mr. Wilson had pur- 
chased certain manorial rights in Aslirigg parish; they certainly ex- 
ended over the two feet on his own side of the lane. 

Then Cherry had remembered Mr. Wilson’s son at Oxford, and 
knew that last year he had taken a first. He had met him at break- 
fast; was he coming down soon? This had created a diversion; and 
while the squire and his tenant were at it hammer and tongs, 
Cherry had received several invitations, had warmly applauded Mr. 
Wilson’s remark that he did not wish to be unpleasant to old in 
habitants on hist coming into the county, and' the squire, having 
got his own way with the farmer, an amicable arrangement was 
arrived at; while Cherry went to see Mrs. Fleming’s dairy, ‘‘be- 
cause he remembered how she used to give him such beautiful new 
milk.” 

“Oh, Cherry, you have more than a bit of the blarney,” said 
Kuth. “ Haven’t you a drop of Irish blood somewhere?” 

“No more than Jack,” said Cherry, who was perhaps a little 
pleased at his diplomacy. 44 1 like to smooth things down, unless, 
to be sure, one is angry one’s self.” 

“ You are alwaj 7 s\be peacemaker,” said Alvar. 

“ Ah, not always, I am afraid! But now 1 want all the blarney 
1 can muster to persuade you that it is warm enough to go and 
spend the day at Black Tarn. We might go by train lrom Ha 2 elby 
to Blackrigg; have lunch at the inn there, and go up to Black Tarn 
by the Otter’s Glen. 1 asked Mr. and Mrs. Ellesmere, and they will 
come with us ” — to Virginia — “ 1 assure you Alvar agrees.” 

“ You are wasting your blarney,” said Virginia smiling, 44 for we 
had agreed to go before you came. It will be very cold up at Black 
Tarn, but that will not signify if we take plenty of wraps.” 

Such a genuine piece of natural and innocent amusement was 
quite a novelty at Elderthwaite, and the boys were delighted. The 
party agreed to meet at Hazel by station, and go by train some ten or 
twelve miles toward the mountains on the outskirts of which Black 
Tarn lay. There was a train in the evening by which they could 
return, and no one left at home was to be anxious about them until 
they saw them coming back. 


A^ST ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


79 


CHAPTER XY1. 

THE OTTER’S GLEN. 

“ An empty sky, a world of heather, 

Purple of foxglove, yellow x of broom. 

We two among them, wading together, 

Stepping out honey, treading perfume. 1 ’ 

There was hardly a 'lonelier spot in all Ibe country round than 
the little Black Tam. The hill in which it lay possessed neither the 
rocky grandeur nor the fertile beauty of the neighboring mount- 
ains; it was covered with grass and bog, not a tree relieved its deso- 
lateness, no gray rocks pushed their picturesque heads through the 
soil and gave variety to its shape. The approach to the little lake 
was defended by great beds of reeds and rushes, its waters were 
shallow, and later in the year full of weeds and water-lilies. But 
there was a fine view T of the heathery backs of some of the more im- 
portant mountains, and the stream that rushed down the Otter’s 
Glen was broad and clear, and had been the scene of many an excit- 
ing chase in gray misty mornings. 

To-day the sun was bright and strong, the fresh mountain wind 
intensely exhilarating, and the whole party w r ere in the highest 
spirits and ready to enjoy every incident of their excursion. They 
had had their lunch, as proposed, at the little wayside inn, where the 
Lesters were well known and always welcome, and had then set off 
on their three miles’ walk to the tarn in scattered groups, all at 
their own pace and with different views of the distances they meant 
to effect. 

A large division, headed by Mr. Ellesmere, had started off at a 
brisk pace, intending to get to the top of the hill and see half over 
the country, but stragglers began to drop behind. 

Mrs. Ellesmere thought the tarn would be enough for herself and 
her younger children; every one dropped oft from Alvar and Vir- 
ginia, and left them to their own devices, while Cherry set himself 
to persuade Ruth that the best thing to do was to follow the stream, 
step by step, along its winding course, heedless of the end. 

He could hardly believe in his own good luck as the voices of the 
others died aw r ay in the distance, and Ruth put her hand into his to 
be helped along the slippery stepping-stones planted here and there 
on the marshy pathway. 

Whatever was missing for Ruth in the perfection of the day’s 
pleasure, her great dark eyes were bright and soft, and a little flush 
on her brown cheeks gave her an additional beauty. She w r ore a 
small closely-fitting hat with a red plume in it, and a tight dark 
dress; and thus, with her hand in his, and her bewitching eyes raised 
to his face, her image recurred to him in after days. 

He had been laughing, and talking, and managing the expedition, 
but now alone with her he fell silent, and there w r as that in his face 
as he looked dowm at her that frightened Ruth a little. 

During these past months he "had grown less “ boyish,” and it 


80 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


crossed Ruth’s mind to wonder if he had had any special purpose 
in getting her to himself. 

“ And have you been working very hard?” she said, smiling at 
him. 

“ Pretty well,” answered Cherry. “ 1 shall be glad when it’s all 
over.” 

“ Won’t they ring all the bells at Oakby?” 

Cherry laughed. 

“ 1 hope they won’t have occasion to toll them,” he said; “ it 
seems sometimes much more likely.” 

“ Ah! that is because you get out of spirits. And after all, who 
cares except a lot of stupid old tutors?” 

“ 1 don’t suppose you — any one, would care much.” 

“ Why,” said Ruth dexterously ; “who judges a man by the 
result of an examination? that would be very unfair.” 

“ Then,” said Cherry shyly, “ if I come to grief 1 shall go to you 
for — for consolation. You won’t despise me?” 

“ Oh, Cherry! 1 am sure wdien one knows life one sees that after 
all these tests are rather childish. I should not think; less of you it 
you made a mistake.” 

Perhaps it was characteristic of Cheriton that he felt more than 
ever resolved to attain success, and he answered — 

“ You ought to think less of me if 1 did not do my best to avoid 
mistakes.” 

“ Now that is worthy of Jack, of whom 1 am becoming quite 
afraid. 1 care for my friends because — well, because 1 care for 
them, and what they do makes no difference.” 

“That,” said Cherry, “is the sort of backing up that would 
make a man able to endure failure till success came. But still one 
must wish to bring home the spoils!” 

There was a dangerous intensity in Clieriton’s accent, and Ruth 
laughed gayly. 

“ Of course, men are always so ambitious. Well, 1 believe in 
your spoils, Cherry, but don’t work too hard for them. Don Alvar 
told Virginia you would knock yourself up.” 

“ Oh, "Alvar! Hard work is a great puzzle to him. No fear of 
my working too hard, I get stupefied too quickly, otherwise I should 
not be here now; but 1 can't grudge what is so — so delightful. Take 
care, that is a very slippery stone. " Won’t you give me your hand? 
There, that’s a safe one.” 

Ruth was not a great adept at scrambling independently, but she 
knew how to be helped with wronderful grace and gratitude. Nor 
w r as a solitary ramble with Cheriton at. all an unnatural thing. He 
had helped her up in many a difficult place in their boy-and-girl 
days, and teased her by pretending that he would not help her down; 
but now she felt thac in more senses than one she was treading on 
slippery ground, and guided the conversation on to the safer topic 
of Alvar and Virginia. 

“ Weren’t you very much surprised,” said Cheriton, “ when that 
came about?” 

“ Well, you know,” said Ruth, “ Virginia is rather transparent. 

1 couldn’t help guessing that she was interested in your brother. 
She is so romantic, too, and he is such a cavalier.” 


. AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 81 

“ 1 suppose you always study common-sense,” said Cherry, who 
preferred greatly to talk about Ruth herself than to discuss Virginia, 

“ 1 have my own ideas of romance,” said Ruth, “ but 1 think 1 
have outgrown the notion that everyone ought to look like a hero.” 

“ And what is your idea of romance?” asked Cherry, gratified by 
this remark. 

44 Self-devotion,” said Ruth briefly, giving up everything for the 
one object. 44 That’s t rue romance. ’ ’ 

44 Self-sacrifice?” said Cherry. 44 That is too hard work to be 
romantic about.” 

44 Not for any one — anything one loved,” said Ruth very low, but 
with flushing cheeks. 

44 Then,” said Cheriton, 4 4 there would be no other self left to 
sacrifice.” 

Ruth was startled. Rupert had never so answered her thoughts, 
had never given her quite such a look. 

Cherry paused and turned round toward her with a desperate im- 
pulse urging him to speak, her face shining with enthusiasm giving 
him sudden courage. 

44 Ah!” exclaimed Ruth, springing across on to a very unsteady 
stone, 44 you are getting too serious! 1 declare, there’s a white but- 
terfly, the first for the year. And look— oh, look, Cherry, isn’t that 
bit of gorse pretty against the sky? It’s too bad to discuss abstract 
questions at a picnic on a spring day.” 

Cheriton stood still for a moriient. He heard the rush of the 
water, he saw the snine of the sun, his eyes followed the butterfly as 
it fluttered up to the bi< of yellow gorse, he could see Ruth smiling 
and graceful, beckoning to him to follow her; the glamour and daz- 
zle had passed, and the day was like any other fine day now. 

44 1 did not mean to discuss abstract questions,” be said, with a 
touch of offense. 

44 Ah! but you were getting very deep! Come, don’t be cross. 
Cherry; you look exactly like .lack at this minute, and you can’t 
make your eyebrows meet, so don’t try.” 

44 Poor .lack, you are very hard on him,” said Cherry, recover- 
ing himself. 44 Will you have a bit of the gorse for your hat, if I 
cut all the prickles off?” 

44 If you cut all the prickles off, what will you leave?” said Ruth. 

They had a very charming walk alter this, and were much more 
merry and talkative than at first. There was a sense of being baffled 
deep down in Cherry’s heart, but if the rest was surface work it 
was very enchanting, and they dawdled and chattered till the time 
slipped away, and they saw their party in the distance coming back 
from the tarn. 

44 Oh, let us run,” said Ruth, 44 and get into the road before 
them.” 

44 Come,” said Cherry, holding out his hand, and they ran across 
the short turf, the sw T eet, keen air blowing in their faces, a sort of 
excitement urging Ruth, who was a lazy little thing usually, to this 
childish proceeding. 

They came running down into the road just as the whole party 
came back from the tarn, crying out on them for their laziness. 


82 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


“We have been looking for you,” said Virginia, whose hat was 
daintily wreathed with stag moss. “ Alvar and 1 tried to find you.” 

“ Oh, yes, you were miseiable without us of course,” said Cherry. 

“ Hallo, Rupert! where on earth did you spring from?” 

”1 came over for a ball at the Molyneuxes; they have taken 
Blackrigg Hall, you know. I must get back by the first thing to- 
morrow. I heard of your picnic from some of the people about, 
and came to see if 1 could fall in with you.” 

44 You are just in time to come back with us to the inn,” said Mr. 
Ellesmere; 44 we shall have no more than time to get a cup of tea 
and be off for the train.” 

44 I thought you would not come,” whispered Ruth to Rupert as 
they all walked back together. 

44 So it seemed; what were you doing with Cherry?” said Rupert 
sharply. 

Ruth looked at him with reproach in her eyes, but they had no 
chance then of obtaining private words. Rupert looked savage, but 
directed his efforts to sitting next her in the omnibus which was to 
convey most of the party to the station. 

“ Don’t spoil these few minutes,” whispered Ruth imploringly, 
as she looked up in his displeased face. 44 Could I let people guess 
how I was longing tor you? 1 thought you would have been here 
sooner.” 

44 Cherry is always to the fore,” said Rupert with an amount of ill- 
temper for which Ruth could not quite account. She felt pro- 
foundly miserable, so wretched that she could hardly keep the tears 
out of her eyes. She had looked forward for the last day or two to 
this poor little meeting as such a light in the darkness, and now 
some one spoke to Rupert and some one else to herself. There was 
no chance of making it up— if they were to part so! Oh, it was 
hard! Virginia could say as much as she liked to her lover. Then 
Ruth saw that Alvar was not in the omnibus, nor Cheriton either, 
and hoped that the latter fact might assuage Rupert’s jealousy. Per- 
haps he felt ashamed of it, for as they neared Blackrigg she felt his 
hand clasp hers, and he whispered, 44 Forgive me.” 

In the meanw r hile Cheriton, having lingered a moment to make 
payments and final arrangements, was left for the 44 trap,” a very 
nondescript vehicle, which had brought Bob and Jack from the 
station. To his surprise he found that Alvar instead of one of the 
younger ones was his companion. 

44 Why, how’s this?” he said. 

‘‘ I thought that I would wait for you. Is it not my turn?” said 
Alvar, who sometimes liked to claim an equality with the others. 

44 I’m afraid you’ll get wet,” said Cherry; 44 they’ve all the plaids, 
and it is going to rain. These mountain showers come up so 
quickly.” 

44 1 don’t mind the rain,” said Alvar. 

Cheriton, however, mindful of Alvar’s short experience of the 
cold, driving rain of the country, made him put a dilapidated rug 
that was in the carriage over his shoulders, and drove on as fast as 
he could, through mist and wind, till about half-way to Blackiigg 
there was a great jolt— off came the wheel of the trap, which turned 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. - 83 

over, and they were both thrown out on the high bank beside the 
road. 

Cherry felt Alvar’s arm round him before he had time to get up, 
and heard him speaking fast in Spanish, and then, “You are not 
hurt, my brother ?” 

“ Oh, no— no. Nor you? That’s all right; but we’re in a nice 
fix. No getting to Blackrigg to-night. Here’s the wheel off.” 

The bank was soft and muddy; and they were quite unhurt, and 
after a minute, Cherry hailed a man passing by, and asked him to 
take the horse back to the inn, proposing to Alvar to try to catch 
the train at Stonybeach, an intermediate station, co which he knew 
a short cut. 

“ Can you make a run for it?” he said. 

“ Yes— on, yes, I can run,” said Alvar. “ This is an adventure.” 

It was such a run across country as reminded Cheriton of his days 
of paper-chases, and was probably a new experience to Alvar, who 
remarked breathlessly, as they neared the station, — 

“ 1 can run — w 7 hen it is necessary; but I do not understand your 
races for amusement.” 

Cheriton made no answer, as they entered the station and iound 
that after all a neighboring market had delayed the train, and that 
they had still some minutes 1o wait. 

“That’s too bad,” said Cherry, as strength and breath fairly 
tailed him, and he sat hastily dow n on a bench, to lii's own surprise 
and annoyance, completely exhausted. 

“ Ah! you are too tired!” exclaimed Alvar, coming to him; and 
with a kindness and presence of mind tor which few had given 
credit, he made Cherry rest, and got the porter to fetch some water 
for him (the little roadside station afforded nothing else), till after a 
few minutes of dizzy faintness and breathlessness, Cherry began to 
revive into a state of indignation with himself, and gratitude to his 
brother, the expression of which sentiments Alvar silenced. 

“Hush! 1 will not have you talk } 7 et! You must rest till the 
train comes. Lean back against me. No— you have not made a 
confounded fool of yourself, wdien you could not help it.” 

“ 1 suppose the fall shook me,” said Cherry, presently. “ Hark! 
there is the train. Now, Alvar, don’t you say a word of this. I am 
all right now.” 

He stood up as the train came creeping and groaning into the 
station, and Jack made signs to them out of the window. The 
.train w 7 a3 crowded, and the rest of the paity were further back. 
Jack exclaimed at their appearance, and while they were explaining 
their adventure, Alvar got some wine for Cheriton out of a hamper 
that had been brought for the luncheon. 

“ Why, Alvar, you are more than half a doctor,” said Cherry, as 
he took it. “ I’m all right again now.” 

Jack scanned him a little anxiously. “ tfou had no business to 
be knocked up,” he said briefly. “You should not have tried to 
run when you were so out of condition.” 

“If 1 am a doctor, Jack,” said Alvar, “1 will not have mj r 
patient scolded. He is better now, are you not, quendo mio? And 
we are not fit to see the ladies. See, T am covered with mud,” and 


84 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

Alvar endeavored to brush the mud oft his hat, and to make his wet 
clothes look a little less disreputable. 

Cherry put a great-coat on, as a measure both ot prudence and 
respectability. He bad been desperately desirous ot catching the 
train for the sake of a few more words with Ruth; for on the next 
day he was obliged to return to Oxford. They were all to part at 
Hazel by, where their respective carriages awaited them. 

Ruth had forgotten his very existence as he hurried up to her in 
the crowded station; for Rupert had been forced to go on by the 
train. She remembered now^ that her walk with him had made 
Rupert angrj r , and hardly able to control her voice to speak at all, 
she wished him a cold, hasty good-night, and sprung into the car- 
riage without giving him time for a word. 

Chen ton was both angry and miserable; he stood back silently, 
while Alvar put Virginia into the carriage, and excused himself 
gayly for his muddy coat. Dick Seyton ran up at the last minute, 
and the Lesters set out on their six miles’ drive in an open break, 
under water-proofs and umbrellas, through the pouring rain. The 
twins disputed under their breath, and jack lectured Cheriton on 
the amount of exercise necessary during a period of hard reading. 

Cherry, for once, answered him sharply, and Alvar, as was usually 
the case when his Geschwister quarreled, wondered silently, both 
how they could be so uncourteous to each other, and how they 
could excite themselves so much about nothing. But there had 
been something in the manner of his kindness and attention that 
dwelt pleasantly in Clieriton’s memory of a day -which for many 
reasons he had afterward cause to look back upon with pain. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

RIFTS. 

“ It is the little rift within the lover’s lute.” 

In the June following the expedition to Black Tarn some great 
festivities were held in honor ot the coming ot age ot a young 
nobleman, who possessed a large property about fifteen miles from 
Oakby. 

His father, the late Lord Milford, had been a friend of Mr. Les- 
ter, and the young man himself was at school for a time with his 
sons. The event being also of importance in the county, old Mrs. 
Lester broke through her usual home-staying habits, and took Ruth 
and Virginia Leyton for a three days’ visit to Milford Hall. 

It was right for Virginia to be seen in her own county before her 
marriage; it was years since her father and aunt had been present 
at such a gathering, and Alvar and his father were of course among 
the guests. Cheriton was passing, or had passed, his examination; 
but he had decided not to come home until he knew his fate; and 
in studying the papers every morning, in the hope of seeing the 
Class Lists long before they could possibly be printed, Mr. Lester 
and Alvar found at last a subject on which they could thoroughly 
sympathize, though Mr. Lester frequently remarked that there was 


JLK ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


85 


never any knowing Low those mailers would be managed; he did 
not expect much, while Alvar suffered from no misgivings at all. 

Rupert and some of his brother officers were among 1 he guests; 
the entertainments were of the most brilliant description, and the 
weather perfect. 

Ruth was well known and popular. True, she distinguished her- 
self neither in archery nor any other outdoor sport; she was not 
even a very great daucer; but she could talk, and look, and smile 
as if her companion’s words were the one thing interesting to her; 
lienee her success. And Rupert was there, and in the dark alleys, 
and lonely shrubberies of the great gardens at Milford, opportunities 
for Ut&d-Ules were not wanting. Ruth, conscious of her becoming 
dress of the soft, warm maize that suited her brown skin, with 
amusement and admiration to froth her cup of pleasure, and 
Rupert’s exciting presence to spice it and make it worth the drink- 
ing, might seem to be enjoying the most brilliant outcome of young- 
lady life. Sparkle and color, feeling and passion, she would have 
chosen as her greatest good. Theoretically she would have willing- 
ly embraced the pains and penalties which they might bring in their 
train. Yet Ruth on the sunny lawns and stately paths of Milford 
was profoundly and violently miserable, full of anger and despair. 

The terms on which she stood with Rupert were such as could 
only be endurable with the most perfect trust on both sides. Where 
it was necessary to feign neglect, it was sometimes a strain to believe 
in the real devotion. Neither Ruth nor Rupert were people whose 
manners precluded the possibility of a mistake, and, as has been 
seen, Rupert was not proof against jealousy. The strength of 
Ruth’s own passion made her more trustful of his, but at the same 
time she demanded more from him, and he failed to fulfill her ideal 
of an ardent lover. He appeared to her to be too cautious, to miss 
opportunities, and be his necessity for secrecy what it might, she 
could not bear to see him attentive to others— to another, rather. 

There was a young Lady Alice, in her first season, a charming 
childish beauty, after whom it was the fashion to run, and who 
found it agreeable enough to torment her many admirers, and 
provoke the aunt who chaperoned her, by flirting with the hand- 
some Captain Lester, who, on his side, knew well enough that she 
meant nothing serious; and, while he was true in his heart to Ruth, 
was vain enough to be flattered by the preference of a beauty, and 
of a lady, moreover, of rank and distinction. It showed every one 
that he was a man of the world, and a very agreeable fcdlow. 

Perhaps matters might have mended if Mrs. Lester, who thought 
modern manners much too free, and drew a sharp distinction be- 
tween the simplicity of her own straightforward, unmatched girl- 
hood and the coquetries of a ball-room, and who, moreover, dis- 
approved of Ruth, had not looked so very sharply after her, I hat 
private interviews were rendered difficult, and Ruth was growing 
too angry to seek one. 

She had not sat by him at dinner; they were separated at the 
great concert that had been given on the day of Iheir arrival; and 
on the next, which was one long fete, ending in a ball, they only 
caught a few hasty words with each other; and it appeared to her 
excited fancy that he was forever at Lady Alice’s side. In the 


86 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

evening she would not dance with him, crowding her card with 
names, laughed, talked, flirted, and was wretched. It was not till 
alter supper that he pursued her into the last of a long vista of con- 
servatories, where a very youthful partner had conducted her to 
smell the stephanotis, and claimed the next dance as his own. 

The warm, scented air, the distant music, the soft, dim mingling 
of lamp and moonlight, through which strange, rare flowers 
gleamed out from their dark foliage, formed such a background 
as Ruth's vivid fancy, fed by many a tale and poem, had often 
painted, to scenes that should satisfy her in their tenderness and 
intensity. Among the wild fir woods of Oakby here and there, at 
odd times and by unexpected chances, she had known blissful mo- 
ments, every one of which was before her now as she set her mouth 
hard, and looked at Rupert with eyes both full of love and anger. 

Rupert was excited and eager, conscious of having given cause of 
offense, and a little oft his head with the flattery he had received. 
He failed to read the meaning of her face, and turned to her eagerly. 

“ At last, my childl Mrs. Lester is a perfect dragon!” 

“ i don’t think it has been Mrs. Lester’s fault.” 

“ It has been none of mine,” said Rupert. “ Your fine, yellow 
dress escaped me at every turn, and 1 could not. get away from the 
people. 1 have had to work hard for my fun and arrange dozens 
of things.” 

‘‘1 dare say it is very pleasant to be so popular,” said Ruth, 
detecting the little boast, which in a cooler moment would have 
passed unnoticed. There was a sort of airiness in Rupert’s manner, 
inexpressibly irritating when she wanted every assurance of the 
passion which she was so often obliged to take upon trust. 

“ Come, Rutliie, that's not fair. What is a poor fellow to do? 
I have been horribly down in the mouth since we parted; it takes 
so long to get one’s affairs to rights. Your guardians would bow 
me out of the house pretty quickly if 1 applied to them now. Can 
you trust me a little longer, my darling? I’m living on twopence a 
day to bring things round.” 

And did the gloves Lady Alice won from you come out of the 
twopence?” said Ruth, unable to control her anger, sarcastic because 
such a storm of tears was pending. 

Rupert’s quick temper took fire in a moment. 

“ If you have so little confidence in me, Ruth, as to be angry at 
such a trifle,” he said hotly, “it is impossible-— You make me 
feel that 1 ask more of you than you can give.” 

“ Yes,” said Ruth, “ 1 can not give such confidence. When it is 
months since 1 have seen you— weeks since 1 heard from you. I 
can not see you devoted to — to another, when you can not find a mo 
ment for me. If you can bear it — ” 

“ You are very reasonable, Ruth. 1 thought that you were gen- 
erous before all other women, and patient. You speak as if you 
doubted my honor.” 

“If it comes to talking of honor” cried Ruth, “ it you need that 
to bind you, you are free. 1 will not hold you one hour by your 
honor!” 

** Nor I you to a tiial of generosity, which it seems you can not 
bear.” 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 87 

If Rupert had not been first tete montee , and then very angry, he 
would not have made this remark. 

“ Generosity!” cried Ruth. “ No. If honor and generosity are 
required between us, I’ll make no claim on them. Let it all be 
over— we’ll part. Yes, we ll part, and then you need deny yourself 
nothing — nothing for my sake.” 

“ It might be best — if you look on it in this way.” 

There was a silence. Rupert pulled his mustache sharply; his 
face was pale; in that hot moment he felt he might be well quit of 
Ruth’s unreasonable jealousy and suspicion. Ruth sat quite still; 
she would have yielded at a word, perhaps in a minute more she 
might have made the first advance to a reconciliation. But as the 
dance ended the conservatory filled with people. They were joined 
by two or three couples, and a young lady, an old acquaintance of 
Rupert’s, exclaimed, with sufficient forwardness — 

‘‘ Oh, Captain Lester, what do you think we were discussing? 
Peonle say that you are engaged to be married. Is it true— do tell 
me?” 

“ No,” said Rupert shortly. “Iam not engaged to be married, 
nor likely to be.” 

He laughed bitterly as he spoke, and perhaps under the circum- 
stances could hardly have avoided some sort of denial; but the di- 
rectness ot this one, and the tone in which it was spoken, seemed to 
seal Ruth’s fate. She said afterward that she went mad at that 
moment, and certainly she lost the soft self-possession that was one 
of her chief charms, grew daring and defiant, and said and did 
things that others remembered long after she had recovered from 
the wild excitement that prompted them. The sacredness of un 
governable feeling was an article of her faith, and she was quite as 
miserable as she ever thought true love would demand of any one. 
But the poor child, as she sat on the floor in her own room that 
night, with her face hidden on a chair, did not think at all that she 
was “ having an experience,” nor going through the second volume 
of the stoiy, in the beginning of which she had so gloried; she only 
felt that she was utterly and inconceivably wretched, and angry be- 
yond expression. Rupert did not care f or her, or only cared" in a 
commonplace fashion. There was nothing left in life for her. 
Evidently he had been glad io find in the quarrel an excuse for an 
escape. 

Ruth’s hot displeasure culminated when she came down to break- 
fast the next morning, and found that every one was regretting the 
departure ot the officers from York, who had been obliged to take 
leave early that morning. They would be a great loss at the ten- 
ants’ ball that night. 

“ Father, my father,” suddenly exclaimed Alvar Lester, coming 
into the room with a newspaper in his hand. “ See, it is here, 

‘ Gerald Cheriton Lester.’ And he is first. 1 said so. Ah! I re- 
joice!” 

Alvar’s eager voice and excited face attracted general attention, 
as he put the paper into his father’s hand, and pointed over his 
shoulder. There was a chorus of congratulations, while Mr. Lester ’s 
blue eyes, looked as bright as his son’s black ones, as he hummed 
and ha d, coughed two or three times, and said, with as little exul- 


88 AH EHGLISE SQUIRE. 

tatioh as he could manage to show, “ That he was glad Client on had 
worked hard and done his best. He was a good lad, and had never 
given any trouble. How, they could have him at home for a bit.” 

“ Ah! that will be jolly ,” said Alvar. “ But he will have come 
home, through last night, and we shall not be there.” 

“ Send a telegram to meet him, and ask him to come over,” said 
young Lord Miltord. “ He always was a capital fellow, and 1 shall 
be delighted to see him.” 

“ And 1 hope, Milford/* said the young lord’s mother, 4 4 that you 
will take example by~your friend.” 

“ Don’t you build on any such hopes, mother; but I’ll go and see 
about getting him over here at once.” 

Mrs. Lester was moved to encomiums on Cherry’s studies and 
steadiness; and more than one of those present remarked with ad- 
miration the unselfish pleasure taken by the elder brother in the suc- 
cess of his universally popular junior. 

Virginia Seyton watched her betrothed a little wistfully. "Ruth’s 
was not the only love story that was running its course through 
these early summer months, and Virginia’s heart Was not quite at 
ease. If ‘‘what Rupert was like,” had come upon Ruth with a 
sudden blow, “ what Alvar was like,” was still something of a prob- 
lem to Virginia. He was attractive to her beyond measure, he oc- 
cupied every coiner of her heart; it was joy to her to be near him; 
his gentle, chivalrous courtship gave her unimaginable delight. She 
coufd remember every glance of his eyes, every touch ot his hand; 
but — But what? Alvar was at once too obtuse and too proud ever 
to assume a character that did not belong to him. He did not think 
it worth while to acquire or profess new sentiments; perhaps he 
never even perceived that they were desired. He was, spite of his 
courteous tongue, as absolutely candid a person as his brother Jack. 
He was not a bit worse than he seemed, neither was he much better. 
He behaved very well in his difficult life, and regulated his conduct 
by certain maxims of honor and courtesy; but, in the sense in 
which Virginia understood the word, he had no principles at all. 
It was with a curious mixture of sensations that, when, a propos of 
some scrape of Dick’s, she had timidly alluded to the gambling that 
had brought such distress on her family, Virginia heard him an- 
swer— 

“Ah, they have had much ill-fortune,” without a spark ap- 
parently of righteous indignation. 

Hoi could she help perceiving that he scarcely ever occupied^iim- 
selt with anything more useful than a cigar. “ My father is always 
busy,” he would say complacently, as he sat idle; but he did not 
point any popular moral; for idleness made him neither ill-humored 
nor mischievous. 

Virginia loved him well enough to set all her will on the side of 
making allowances. When he saw her scrupulous and earnest in 
fulfilling her religious duties, he would kiss her hand and say, “ My 
queen is as holy as a saint,” and he conformed sufficiently to the 
Oakby standard to satisfy her conscience, if not his own, never 
uttering a word that could offend her. But, as he, had told Cheri- 
ton, “ he did not interest himself in these matters,” and she knew it. 

Perhaps Virginia, diffident as to her knowledge of masculine 


89 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

standards and modes of expression, might never have realized even 
thus much lo herself, but tor the instinctive sense of another short- 
coming in her lover, which she would not admit, and which she 
hated herself for even imagining. It came, by a strange turn of 
fate, both to her and to Ruth, ~ to feel that the love they gave was 
not returned in its fullness. With what a passion of despair and 
jealousy Ruth had resented the discovery has been seen. 

To Virginia it brought a disheartening sense of her own demerit, 
a doubt of the truth of her own impressions, vexation at her own 
want of trustfulness, shame and self-blame, because she could not 
help knowing that Alvar missed sometimes the chance of a word or 
an interview when she would have secured it, because she felt that 
he did not care as she cared. But then, temperaments differ; some 
people were reserved ; perhaps she was exacting, and her cheek had 
flushed aud her eyes sparkled with joy when Alvar praised the 
dresses she had taken such pains to choose for the Milford fetes, and 
when he paid her all the attention due from an affianced lover. 

She had no cause to feel neglected, while Ruth was chafing at the 
sight of Rupert’s flirtations. And when the news came of Clieri- 
ton’s success, was she not proud of Alvar’s generous delight? Yes, 
but she had never stirred his passive content to sucji pleasure, he 
had never been in such high spirits for her! Ah! how hatefully 
selfish she was to think of it! 

The two girls exchanged no confidences. Ruth’s heart was too 
sore, and Virginia’s too loyal for a word; but as they consulted over 
their dresses, and speculated whether Clieriton would arrive in time 
for the tenants’ dance that night, each wondered what the other 
would say to the secret thoughts of her heart. 


CHAPTER XV1I1. 

RED SUNRISE. 

“ O happy world !" thought Pelleas, “ all meseems 
Are happy— I the happiest of them all . 11 

On that same hot summer night, when Ruth and Rupert were 
first making each other miserable, and then finding out separately 
that they were very miserable themselves, Clieriton, with hope and 
joy in his heart, was speeding home toOakhy. With hope and joy, 
for Ruth had made up for her cold farewell, making some little 
excuse for writing to him, and asking him to get her a picture of 
the Arms of the Colleges — a commission which, it is needless to say, 
he found time to execute. 

This pleasure had helped him through his hard work, for he was 
excitable enough to have felt the last few weeks of effort and sus- 
pense a severe strain, and had not brought quite his usual health and 
strength to bear on them ; for he had caught a bad cold with the 
race in the rain at Black Tarn, and had m»ver given himself a chance 
of getting rid of it. However, it was all over now, he thought, his 
mind was relieved, and the prospect of home with its leisure and its 
occupations had never seemed so delightful to him. For his love 
for Ruth did not shut out the thought of all other affections, it 


90 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE, 

rather cast a radiance over them, and made him more conscious of 
their sweetness. 

It was a lovely summer morning, as the train came in to Ashrigg 
station, the wide landscape showed clear and tresh against the 
cloudless sky, the peculiar northern sharpness was in the air. It 
was sweet to Cherry’s senses, and finding no conveyance so early at 
Ashrigg, he set off to walk home across the dewy fields, Buffer, en- 
chanted at his release from durance vile, trotting and barking at his 
heels. 

By various short cuts the walk was under three miles, and Cheri- 
ton soon found himself at the house, where lie had time to get some 
breakfast, and to feel somewhat disappointed that no One was at 
home to hear his good news, for he felt too tired to go and seek for 
congratulations at the 'Vicarage, where Nettie was staying— or where 
he would have been at least equally certain of them— to the lodge to 
which the old family nurse had migrated. 

So he contented himself with greeting all the dogs, and w r ith the 
delightful consciousness that he had no need to exert himself, till 
Lord Milford’s telegram arrived, and the thought of so quickly 
greeting Ruth, and of finding her belonging as it were to his own 
party, and thus making a thousand opportunities for paying her at- 
tention, roused him from his fit of languor and fatigue, and he 
eagerly made his preparations, and started off in the middle of 
the bright June day on his further travels. 

The midsummer weather in that northern country had still much 
of the freshness and the delicacy of the spring. he trees were in 
their first bright green, the bluebells lingered in the woods, the 
birds sung songs of hopefulness to him. Milford was in a softer, 
more richly-wooded landscape than Oakby, ana the gardens were 
splendid with early roses and flowering slirubs, the park still here 
and there white with hawthorn. 

This was the children’s day, a great school feast for all the par- 
ishes around, to be followed by a children’s dance in the evening 

Cheriton arrived in the midst of a grand tea in the park, and 
pausing to detect his relations, perceived Alvar looking even un- 
usually tall, stately, and graceful, as he walked along a row of the 
very tiniest children, and filled their mugs with milk and water from 
a huge can. He looked up as he came to the end, and saw Cheri- 
ton’s laughing eyes fixed full upon him. 

“ Ah l Cheriton!” he exclaimed, “ you are here, and with all your 
honors ! AY elcorne. ’ * 

“Thanks; I knew you would be pleased. So you are making 
yourself useful. AYhere’s my father?” 

“ In the tent with Lady Milford. 1 will show you.” 

Cheriton was inclined to think it a great bore to find his own 
people surrounded by strangers, and was ashamed of the congratu- 
lations which the circumstances of his arrival and the warm-heart- 
edness of his hosts called forth. So he and his father hardly said a 
word to each other, though they experienced a great content in being 
together; perhaps a more uncommon ending to a university career 
than Cherry’s honors, even had they been doubled. 

“ Come, Lester,” said Lord Milford, “ and make yourself useful. 


AH EHGLISH SQUIRE. 91 

I know you are great at sack-races, and three-legged races, and such 
diversions/* 

“ After being pp all night? Weil, as long as I am not expected 
to jump in a sack myself— ” said Cheriton. “ Come, Alvar, don’t 
you want another can of milk and water?” 

“Ah! you laugh at me,” said Alvar contentedly. “1 am too 
glad to see you to care. This fete is very pleasant. * 1 am glad you 
came back in time for it.” 

“ Yes; but 1 wish we were all at home,” said Cheriton absently, 
and looking anxiously round him. He soon discovered Virginia, 
much in her element among a crowd of school-girls; and at length 
his eyes found the objeefof their search. A little apart on a bench 
sat Ruth in the most delicate of white muslins, gloves, fans, and 
ribbons, all in first-rate order, looking, with the fantastic fashion, 
and brilliant dashes of color in her dress, like a figure on a fan. She 
gave a little start as she saw Cheriton’s figure in the distance, and 
her flush of disappointment as he came nearer was at once noted by 
him, and — misinterpreted. 

“ So you have got your laurels?” she said softly, as she held out 
her hand, and looked up in his face. “ 1 am glad.” 

“ Then they are worth having!” said Cheriton. 

It might have been a mere jesting answer, but Ruth did not so 
take it, nor did he intend that she should do so. He would have 
altered nothing in her greeting to him, it was a better meeting than 
he could have imagined. Afterward, if Ruth had wished to dis- 
courage him, she would not have found it easy; he had but one pur- 
pose, and he set himself to fulfill it; hopeful through the charm of 
present bliss. It w T as not often that Cheriton’s native skies were so 
cloudless, nor were these hot, full summer days at all typical of the 
home that he loved so well. But it was in such “ blue unclouded 
weather,” in such smiling midsummer beauty, that he pictured 
afterward the wind-swept moors and hardy fir-woods of his north- 
country home. Nor did the memory of llot, glaring sunshine, of 
dust, and noise, and fatigue, cease to haunt Rutli for many a day to 
come. 

She was one of those to whom excitement gives another and an 
intenser self. Of this she was dimly conscious, and when she had 
said that she could die for Rupert, she had perhaps not been far 
wrong. That extreme anger would urge her to a course almost 
equally desperate she had never guessed, but to give Rupert pain, to 
cause him chagrin and remorse, in short, to make him jealous and 
miserable as he had made her, she would have endured tortures. 

When people are thus minded, in other words, when they are in 
a passion, life always helps them on. Whether by accident or by 
malice, she had heard plenty of gossip about Rupert; he had written 
no word of repentance; she knew that Lady Alice would shortly 
meet him again. Well, if her conduct was discussed between them, 
he should hear enough, both to hurt his provoking self-love, and to 
show that she did not suffer. And Cheriton offered the sort of 
strange counter-attraction often felt on such occasions to any one 
else than the object of anger. 

She had always liked to “ talk to Cherry,” his love was flatter- 
ing, and she instinctively knew that it wsjs true. He was also a 


92 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


singularly attractive and lovable person, and in Ruth’s sore-hearted 
rage she felt MS' charm. “It was nice to be with him— he did her 
good;” and if she could wound Rupert and please.lierself, the pos- 
sible disappointment to Cheriton was not worth considering. But 
Ruth reckoned without her host. She neither allowed tor Cheriton’s 
ardor, nor lor the effect that it would have on her; she did not know 
how definite her choice must be. 

Cherry was not nearly so useful as liis friend had expected; he 
was too tired to play games, and dancing, he said, gave him a pain 
in his side and made him cough, which "was true, and would have 
been an equally good reason against wandering about in the shrub- 
beries and distant paths with Ruth, where he incurred other dan- 
gers than night air and dewy grass. He was too happy to heed any 
oi them. She listened, as Ruth knew how to listen, to his account 
of his Oxford life— his hopes and fears— his future prospects— and 
she was carried away, spite of herself, by the single-minded earnest- 
ness with which he spoke. He interested her, and she forgot herself 
tor the moment as they strolled along; the yellow sunset dying in 
the distance, the first star shining over the great house behind them. 
Suddenly Cheriton turned and took her hand. 

“ Ruth,” he said, “ 1 have told you all this because it is so sweet 
to see you listen. 1 have something more to tell you now. 1 have 
a great many aims and ambitions— there’s one dearer than the rest. 
1 love my own people — my home— very much. 1 love you best, in- 
finitely best. 1 always have loved you. Can you love me?” 

“ Oh, Cherry!” cried Ruth, in desperate self-defense, “ don’t say 
so! That sort of love is all a mistake. Keep to the other sort — it 
is a great deal better for you.” 

“Better!” exclaimed Cheriton. “One thing is best for me— to 
have you for my wife. Oh, Ruth, my darling! ever since I was a 
boy 1 have loved you. Can’t you care a little for me? I think you 
can— 1 hope you can. You have always listened to me and under- 
stood me. 1 think you know me better than any one does.” 

“ I know — you do care,” said Ruth, half to herself. 

“ It is my very life,” he said, and as she, trembling, hardly able 
to stand, made a halt movement toward— not away from him — he 
threw his arms round her and drew her close. “ My darling!— oh, 
my darling! am I so happy? — ah! thank God! Thank God!” 

Ruth burst into a passion of tears. Retreat was growing impos- 
sible, she hardly knew what she wished; anger, a sort of wild tri- 
umph, the difficulty of resisting this passionate pleading, the incon- 
ceivable joy of Cheritou’s face and voice, added to the overstrained 
excitement of her previous feelings, completely overpowered her, till 
her sobs were uncontrollable, and with them came the strangest im- 
pulse to tell him all, the most incongruous confidence in the justice 
and sympathy of this passionate lover for the love and sorrows that 
would have wrecked his hopes. Ah! if she had but done so! 

“ Oli, what a tool I have been!” cried Cheriton, exceedingly dis- 
tressed. “ Oh, Ruth, my darling! 1 have frightened you. I’ll be 
patient: I’ll not say another word. See, here’s a seat— -sit down. 1 
deserve that you should never speak to me again.” 

Ruth let him lead her to the bench, and endeavored to collect her 
senses. 


93 


AN ENGLISH SQUIR^. 

f* I am not half good enough for you. You don’t Know what you 
want,” she faltered. 

“ Oh, yes, I do. 1 know just what 1 want,” said Cheriton softly 
and gently; but venturing to sit down beside her, and trying to re- 
assure her by a little playfulness; “ but 1 don’t know how to ask 
for it. Alvar might iiave shown me the way.” 

“ Oh, you know well enough,” said Ruth, in a more natural tone, 
and in the few moments, while he sat watching her, her excitement 
cooled down, or rather hardened itself into shape. Her tears dried 
up, and she said— 

“ Wiiat would your father say?” 

“ He will think me too happy ! Will you forgive me for startling 
you, and give me my answer now?” 

He was half smiling, as he timidly put out his hand again. She 
had given reason enough to hope tor the answer he wanted; and 
suddenly there darted into her mind as an excuse, a reason, an ex- 
planation of all this conflict of impulses, of the wish to pique Ru- 
pert, to avenge herself on the one side — to snatch something from life 
if she could not have all on the other— a thought— “ When Rupert 
knows he has such a rival, if he loves me, he will not give me up.” 
She yielded her hand to Cheriton ’s, and said quickly— 

Only promise me one thing, i did not think of this — it is so 
sudden. 1 am going away to-morrow, to Mrs. Grey’s, for a fort- 
night. Promise not to tell any one— your father, your brothers, till 
1 come back. Give me time to — to get used to it first.” 

“ Of course,” said Cheriton, reluctantly; “ that must be as you 
please. But I long to tell them of my great happiness. And my 
father will care so much about it. But of course 1 piomise. But I 
may write to you?” 

“ No — no— then every one will find it out!” said Ruth, with re- 
curring agitation. ” You— you don’t know how I feel about it.” 

“ Well, 1 have gained too much to complain,” said Cheriton, too 
loyal -hearted, and too inexperienced, for a single doubt. “ But 
Ruth, my Ruth, one thing — give me one kiss to remember!” 

” Go then— go! some one will find us!” cried Ruth, and startled 
by approaching footsteps, she rushed away from him ; but the treach- 
erous kiss was given, though she felt in a moment that she would 
have died to recall it. She had revenged herself; she hated hersel f ; 
she already began to try to excuse herself. 

A little later, while troops of gayly dressed children were dancing 
in the lighted hall, and the outdoor guests were rapidly departing, 
Alvar was standing on the terrace, wondering what could have be- 
come of his brother. More than one person had remarked that he 
looked delicate and overworked; and Alvar felt anxious as he saw 
him come slowly up from the grounds toward him. 

“ Where have you been, Cherry?” he said, “ are you not well?” 

Cheriton smiled rather dreamily. 

“Oh, yes, quite well,” he said. There was a far-away look of 
blissful, peaceful content in his eyes, as it it were indeed well with 
him, an expression of perfect, thankful happiness, as far removed 
from the ordinary state of this tolerably comfortable work-a-day 
world as one of great wretchedness and misery; and as remarkable. 
As Alvar looked at him, they heard the cry of a little child, Cheri- 


94 AH ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

ton turned and saw trotting along the terrace in the dusk a very lit- 
tle boy, left behind by some of the schools now trooping out of the 
park. Cherry lifted "him up in his arms and smiled kindly at him, 
trying to make out whom he belonged to, and the child clung to 
him quite at ease with him. “Milford School; ah! I see their 
flag. Come, my lad, we’ll go and find them. There, don’t cry, 
nobody must cry to-night, of all nights in the year.’’ 

“ tv’hen Lady Milford has been so kind,’’ said Alvar, for the 
child’s benefit. 

“ Ah! every one is kind!’’ said Cherry, with a little laugh, as he 
carried away the child, “ and we must— say thank you.” 


o 


PART 11. 

BROTHERS. 

“ There are none so dependent on the kindness of other's as those that are 
exuberantly kind themselves.” 


CHAPTER 1. 

LIFE AND DEATH. 

“ As we descended, following hope. 

There sat the shadow feared of man.” 

Perhaps it was well for the permanence of Cheriton’s new-born 
happiness that he had but a very short glimpse of Ruth. The next 
morning, the Oakby party started early, that Mr. Lester might ar- 
rive in time to attend a magistrates’ meeting at Razelby, while Ruth 
remained for the latter train that was to take her on hei separate 
visit. She would not give him a chance of seeing her alone, and 
one look, one clasp of the hand, and — “ Remember your promise ” 
was all the satisfaction he obtained from her. Yet he could hardly 
collect nis thoughts to answer his father’s many questions on their 
journey home, and trying to shout through the noise of the train 
made him cough so much that his grandmother scolded him for 
catching such a bad cold. 

“ Young men are so foolish,” she said, but she did not look at all 
uneasy. Her grandchildren’s illnesses were never serious; and all 
the Lesters thought any amount of discomfort preferable to “ hav- 
ing a fuss made.” Cherry hardly knew himself how ill he was 
feeling, as they reached home and the day went on; but he was so 
weary with bad nights and fatigue tbat it was a perpetual effort to 
remember that all his suspense of every sort was over, that the ex- 
amination was passed, and that Ruth was his. lie lay on the sofa 
trying to rest; but the cough disturbed him, and by dinner-time he 
was obliged to own himself beaten and to go to bed, saying that a 
night’s jest would quite set him up again. 

“ Boys have no moderation,” said Mr. Lester, in a tone of annoy- 




AX EXGLISH SQUIRE. 95 

ance. * 4 It is well it is all over now. Cheiiton might have taken 
quite as good a place without overworking kiraself in this way." 

Alvar, not understanding that peculiarly English form or anxiety 
that shows itself in shortness of temper, thought this remark very 
unfeeling. Mrs. Lester suggested some simple remedy for the 
cough; Cherry promised to try it, and was left to his “ night’s rest.” 

He woke in the early morning from a short, feverish sleep, to such 
pain and breathlessness and such a sense of serious illness as he had 
never experienced in his life, and, thorough^ frightened and be- 
wildered, was trying to think how he could call any one, when his 
door was softly opened, and Alvar came in. 

44 1 heard you cough so much,” he said. 44 You can not sleep. 1 
am afraid you are ill. ” 

44 Yery ill,” said Cherry. 44 You must send some one for the 
doctor.” 

He was but just able to tell Alvar where to find the young groom 
who could ride into Hazelby to fetch him; and soon theie was ter- 
rible alarm through all the prosperous household, as, roused one 
after another, they came to see what was amiss. Nettie fled, with 
her hands up to her ears, right out into the dewy garden, away from 
the house, afraid to hear what the doctor said of Cherry. Mr. Les- 
ter gave vent to one outburst of rage with examiners, examination, 
and Oxford generally, then braced himself to wait in silence for 
tidings; as he had waited once before when his wife lay in mortal 
danger— would the verdict be the same now? Mrs. Lester pre- 
served her self-possession, sent, for the keeper’s wife, who was the 
best nurse at hand, and though sadly at a loss what remedies to sug- 
gest, sat down to watch her grandson, because it was her place to 
do so. 

They were all too thankful for any help in the crisis to wonder 
that it was Alvar who held Cherry in an easier position, and soothed 
him with quiet tenderness. 

When the doctor at length arrived, he pronounced that Cheriton 
was suffering from a violent attack of inflammation of the lungs. 
He was very "ill; but his youth and previous good health were in his 
favor. Overwork and the neglected cold would doubtless account 
for it. 

44 Will it be over — in a fortnight?” said Cherry, suddenly. 

# 44 We’ll hope so— we’ll hope so,” said the doctor. 44 You have 
only to do as you are told, you know. Now, have you a good 
nurse?” turning to Mrs. Lester. 

44 Yes, we think Mrs. Thornton very trustworthy — she was 
nursery-maid here before she married.” 

44 There must be as few people about hirn as possible. No talk- 
ing and no excitement.” 

” But— Alvar will stay?” said Cherry, wistfully. 44 Father, he 
came in the night— I want him.” 

*■ Hush, hush, my boy — yes, of course he will stay with you if 
you like,” said Mr. Lester, hastily. 

44 Of course,” said Alvar, with a curious accent, half proud, half 
tender, as he laid his hand on Clieriton’s. 

The foreign brother was the last person whom Mr. Adamson ex- 
pected to see in such a capacity; but if he was inefficient, both he 


96 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

and his patient would probably soon discover it; he looked the most 
self-possessed of the party, and his manner soothed Cheriton. Mrs. 
Thornton had plenty of practical experience to supply his inevitable 
ignorance. Cheriton was exceedingly ill; his strength did not hold 
out against the remedies as well as had been hoped, and he suffered 
so much as to be hardly ever clearly conscious. 

“ 1 was so happy!” he said several times with a sort of wonder, 
and his father felt that the words gave him another pang. Mr. Les- 
ter was threatened with the most terrible sorrow that could befall 
him, and no mitigation of the agony was possible to him. He 
thought this his best-loved son would die, and made up his mind to 
the worst, feeling hope impossible; but he made a conscientious 
effort at endurance, an effort sadly unsuccessful. 

“ Eh! my son,” said his old mother, “ he is a good lad, take that 
comfort.” 

And this reserved hint at the one real consolation was almost the 
only attempt at comforting each other that any of them made. No 
one tried to “ make the best of it,” to look at the hopefui side, or to 
find in any mutual tenderness a little iighteningof the burden. They 
held apart from each other with a curious shyness, and as far as 
possible pursued their several businesses. Nettie went to her les- 
sons, and refused to hear a word of sympathy from her friends, and 
when at last she could endure the agony no longer, ran away by 
herself into the woods and hid herself all day. Why should they 
kiss her and give her flowers — it did not cure Cherry, or make it 
less dreadful that another doctor was coming from Edinburgh, be- 
cause Mr. Adamson thought him so ill. But she did not want to 
see him, and had no instinct whatever to do anything for him. 
Speech was no relief to any of them; it was easier to conceal than 
to indulge their feelings; and Mr. Lester went about silent and stern; 
Nettie attempted to comfort no one but the dogs; and her grand- 
mother found no relief but in talking of Cherry’s “ folly in over- 
working himself ” to Virginia, who came hurriedly at the first report 
that reached Elderthwaite. She was a rare visitor ; it was character- 
istic of her relations with Alvar that a sort of shyness kept her away. 
She forgot to be shy, however, when Alvar came to speak to her for 
a moment, and sprung toward him. 

“ Oh! dear Alvar, this is terrible. 1 am so sorry foi you. But 
you think he will be better.” 

“ Yes, surely,” said Alvar, as if no other view had occurred to 
him. “ Mi dona , this is wrong that 1 should let you seek m6; but 
I can not leave him— he suffers so much — that cough is frightful.” 

“ But he likes to have you with him?” 

“ Y’es, 1 can lift him best, and 1 do not ask him how he is when 
he can not speak,” said Alvar, with the simplicity that was so like 
sarcasm. “ Ah! it is not right to let you go back alone, mi Reinct 
— but I dare not stay.” 

“That does not matter; only take care of yourself,” said Vir- 
ginia, as Alvar kissed her hand and opened the door for her, and 
promised to let her have news every day. 

But she went away tearful for more than Cheriton’s danger. 
Alvar had never told her that it comforted him to see her; he did 
not care whether she came or not. 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 97 

u Eh! my lass, what news have you?” said an anxious voice, and 
looking up, Virginia saw her uncle, looking unusually clerical for 
a week-day, hanging about the path in front ot her. 

“ Alvar thinks he will be better, lie is very ill now,” said Vir- 
ginia; “ they have sent tor another doctor.” 

“ All! that’s bad! There’s never been such another in all the 
country. Queenie, did I ever tell you how he kept up our credit with 
the bishop?” 

And Parson Boy ton, whose nature was very different from his 
neighbor’s, spent a long hour in telling tales of Cherry’s boyhood 
to his willing listener. “ Ehf” lie concluded, “ and I meant to fetch 
him over to hear our fine singing, and see how spick and span we 
are now a days— new surplice and all. Eh! he wrote me a sermon 
once— when he was a little lad not twelve years old— and I’ll swear 
it might have been preached with the best.” 

Although Virginia had said nothing and done little to mend mat- 
ters at Elder th waite, there had been a certain revival of the elements 
of respectability. A drunken old farmer had been succeeded by bis 
son, who had been brought up and had married elsewhere. This 
young couple came to church, and Virginia had by chance made 
acquaintance with the bride. Her husband got himself made church- 
warden— Elderthw^aite was not enlightened enough for parochial 
contests, and Virginia having shyly intimated .that want of means 
need not stand in the way, the windows were mended, and some 
yards of cocoa-nut matting appeared in the aisles. There had al- 
ways been a little forlorn singing; young Mr. and Mrs. Clement were 
musical, and the Sunday children were collected in the week and 
tauglit to sing. The parson bad been presented with the surplice, 
and as by this tima he would have done most things to please his 
pretty niece, accepted it with some pride. Whether from the effect 
of the splendors, or from consideration for the fair attentive face that 
he never failed to see before him, the parson himself began to con- 
duct the service with a slight regard to decency and order; and being, 
with his Seyton sense of humor, fully conscious ot the improvement, 
and, with the simplicity that was like a grain of salt in his charac- 
ter, rattier proud of it, had looked forward to Cherry's approbation. 

“ Eh!” he said, “I’d like to see him — I’d like to see him.” 

“ He mustn’t see any one,” said Virginia; “ they will hardly let 
his father go in.” 

“ Well, it’s a pity it’s not the Frenchman. Eh! bless my soul, 
my dialing,- 1 forgot.” 

“ Alvar is almost ready to think so too, uncle,” said Virginia, 
hardly able to help laughing. 

“.If 1 could do anything that he would like— catch him some 
trout-^” suggested the parson. 

“Uncle,” 'said Virginia timidly, “in church, when anyone is 
sick or in trouble, they pray for them. They will mention Cherry’s 
name at Oakby to-morrow. Could not we—” 

“ Ay, my lass, it would show a very proper fespect,” said the 
parson; “ and the lad would like it too.” 

And of all the many hearty -prayers that were sent up on that 
Sunrlay for Cheriton Lester’s recovery, none were more sincere than 
rough Parson Seyton’s. 

4 ™ 


98 AN ENGLISH SQUITtE. 

Tlie Edinburgh doctor could only tell them what they kuew be- 
fore, that though there was very great danger, the case was not 
hopeless. A few days must decide. In the meantime he must not 
talk— he must not see any one who would cause the slightest agita- 
tion; and poor Mr. Lester, whose self-control had suddenly broken 
down before the interview, was about to be peremptorily banished; 
but Cherry put out Jiis hand anti caught his father’s, looking up in 
his face. 

“ Send for the boys,” he said. 

“Yes, but you know you mustn’t see them, my boy— my dear 
boy.” 

“ But Cherry will like to know they are here,” said Alvar, in the 
steady voice that alwa} T s seemed like a support. 

“ They shall c6me. What else— what is it, Cherry?” said Mr. 
Lester-, his son still gazed at him wistfully. 

“ Nothing — not yet,” whispered Cheriton. “Oh! 1 want to say 
so much, father! I am so glad Alvar came home!” 

The words and the sort of smile with which they were spoken 
completely overpowered Mr. Lester; but the doctor, who was still 
present, would not permit another word. 

“ You destroy his only chance,” he said; and after that nothing 
would have induced Mr. Lester to let Cheriton speak to him. That 
evening, however, when he was alone with Alvar, Cherry’s con- 
fused thoughts cleared themselves a little. He had been told to be 
hopeful, and he did not feel himself to be dying; while with his 
whole heart he wished for life— the young bright life that was so 
full of love and joy, of which no outward trouble, no wearing anxi- 
ety, and no cold and Selfish discontent had rendered him weary. 
Home and friends, the long lines of moorland that were shining in 
the sunset light, the hard work in the world behind and before him, 
the answering love of the woman whom he had chosen, were all 
beautiful and good to him; he felt no need of rest, no lack of joy. 

He prayed for his life, not because he was afraid to die, but be- 
cause he wished to live; and w r hen, with a sort of awful, solemn 
curiosity, he tried to realize that death might beliis portion, his 
thoughts, not quite under his own control, turned forcibly to those 
near to him. If he was to die, there were things he must say to his 
father, to Jack, to Alvar, a hundred messages to his friends in the 
village -they would let him see Mr. Ellesmere then — when it did 
not matter how much he hurt himself by speaking; but one thing 
could not wait — • 

“ Alvar, I must say something.” 

“ Yes, 1 can hear,” said Alvar, seeing the necessity, and leaning 
toward him. 

“ When there is no chance, you will tell me?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ But I must tell you about— her— a secret.” 

“ 1 will keep it. Borne one you love?” 

“ It is Ruth; we are engaged. Does she know— this?” 

Alvar’s surprise was intense; but he answered quietly — 

“ 1 suppose that Virginia will have told her.” 

“ Let her know; it would be worse later. Write to her— -you— 
when it is hopeless.” 


I, 


99 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ Yes,” said Alvar. 

“My love— my one love! And say she must come and see me 
once more. She will — 1 would 'go anywhere.’’ 

“ Hush, hush! my brother! 1 understand you. - I am to find out 
if Virginia has written to her cousin; and if you are worse, I write 
and ask her if she will come. 1 will do it.” 

“ Thanks. 1 can’t thank you. God knows how 1 love her.” 

“ Not one more word,” said Alvar, steadily. “ Now you must 
rest.” 

“ I shall get better,” said Cherry. 

But as the pain grew fiercer, and his strength grew less, this se- 
curity failed; and then it was well indeed for Cheiiton that, be his 
desires what they might, he believed with all his warm heart that it 
was a loving Hand that had given him life both here and hereafter. 

Time passed on, and Cheriton still lay in great danger and suffer- 
ing. It was a sorrowful Sunday in Oakby when his" name headed 
the list of sick persons who were prayed for in church. Every one 
could tell of some boyish prank, some merry saying, some act of 
kindness that he had done; and now that he was believed to be 
dying, be the facts what they might, there was a sort of sense that 
he had been deprived of his rights by his foreign, brother. 

“ It hail a deal better a’ been yon black-bearded chap. What’s he 
to us?” many a one muttered. 

Alas! that the thought would intrude itself into the father ’s 
mind, spite of the gratitude he could not but feel! 

But Alvar went on with his anxious watching, heeding no one 
but his. brother. That Sunday was a day of great suffering and 
suspense, and all through the afternoon came lads from the outlying 
farms, children from the village, messengers from half the neigh- 
borhood to hear the last report. Silence and quiet were still so 
forcibly insisted on, that even Mr. Lester was advised by the doctor 
to keep out of his son’s room; but Mr. Ellesmere came up to the 
house at his request and waited, for all thought that the useless 
piohibition would soon be taken away; and in the meantime his 
presence was a support to the father and grandmother, the latter of 
whom, at least, could bear to hear Cheriton praised. 

Toward evening. Alvar, who had scarcely stirred all day, was 
sent down-stairs by Mr. Adamson to get some food, and as he came 
into the dining-room, where the customary Sunday tea was laid on 
I he table, he was greeted with a start of alarm. The two poor boys, 
tired, hungry, and frightened, had arrived but a few minutes be-* 
fore, and were standing about silent and awestruck. 

Jack leaned on the mantel-piece, with his lips shut as if they 
would never unclose again; Bob was staring out of the window; 
Nettie sat forlorn on one of a long row of chairs. Not One of them 
made an attempt to comfort or to speak to the others; they were al- 
most as inaccessible in the sullen intensity of their grief as the two 
dogs,* who, poor things! shared it, as they sat staring at Nettie, as 
dogs will when they do not comprehend the situation. 

Alvar, with his olive face and grave dark eyes, looked, after all 
his fatigue, less changed than Jack, who was deadly pale, and 
hardly able to control his trembling. 


100 


AN ENGLISH SQUTBE. 

“ All L Jack/' said Alvar, in bis soft, slow tones, “he will be 
glad to hear that you are come!” 

Jack did not speak at first, and Alvar, as silent as the rest; went up 
to the table and poured out some claret and took some bread. 

“ It’s quite hopeless, I suppose?” said Jack, suddenly, 

“ No, do not say so!” said Alvar, half .fiercely. “ It is not so; 
but, oh, we fear it!” he added, in a voice of inexpressible melan- 
choly. 

Jack could not utter another word— he was half choking; but 
Nettie, unable to restrain herself any longer, began to. cry piteously. 

“ Don’t, Nettie,” said Bob, savagely. 

“Ah!” said Alvar, “ poor child, she is breaking her heart!” he 
went over to her, and took her in his arms and kissed her. “ Poor 
little sister!” he said. “ Ah! how we love him!” 

The simple expression of the thought, that was aching in the 
minds of all of them seemed to give "a sort’ of relief. Nettie sub- 
mitted to be caressed and soothed, and the boys came a little closer, 
and gave themselves the comfort of looking as wretched as they 
felt. 

“ Now 1 must eat some supper, for ] dare not stay,” said Alvar; 
“ and you— you have been traveling — come and take some.” 

The poor boys began to find out how hungry they were, and Bob 
began to eat heartily; while the force of example made Jack take a 
few mouthfuls, till the vicar came into the room. 

“ Jack,” he said quietly, “ Cherry is so very anxious to see you 
that Mr. Adamson gives leave for you to go for one moment. Not 
the twins — they must wait a little. Can you stand it?” 

“-Yes, sir,” said Jack, though, great, strong fellow as he was, his 
knees trembled. 

“ Then, Alvar, are you ready? Have you really eaten and rested? 
Y 7 ou had better take him in.” 

Jack stood for a moment beside the bed, without attempting a 
word, hardly able to see that Cherry smiled at him, till he felt the 
hot fingers clasp his with more strength than he had looked for, 
and his hand was put into Alvar’s, while Clieriton held them both, 
and whispered “ Jack, you will — ” 

“ Yes, Cherry, I will,” said Jack understanding him. “ \ will 
always.” 

“ There, that must be enough,” said Alvar. “ Jack is very good 
— he shall come again.” 

• “ Oh! don’t send me quite away,” whispered Jack, as they moved 
a little. “ Let me stay outside. I could go errands— I'll not stir.” 

Alvar nodded, and Jack w^ent out into the deserted gallery, where, 
of course, he and Bob were not to sleep at present. The old sitting- 
room was lull of things required by the nurses, and Jack sat down 
on a little window-seat in tne passage, which looked out toward the 
stables. He saw Bob and Nettie arm-in-arm, trying to distract their 
minds by visiting their pets, and liis grandmother, too, coming 
slowly and heavily to look at her poultry. He had not seen his 
father, and dreaded^ the thought of the meeting. Idly he watched 
the ordinary movement of the servants, the inquirers" coming and 
going, and he thought of the brother, best loved of all and most 
loving— oh b it he could but hear Cherry laugh at him again! 


101 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

Upstairs all was silent, save for poor Cheriton’s painful cough 
and difficult breathing; and presently it seemed to Jack that the 
cough was less frequent, till, after an interval of stillness, the doc- 
tor came out. Jack’s heart stood still. Was this the fatal summons? 

“Your brother is asleep,” said Mr. Adamsou. “I feel more 
hopeful. 1 am obliged to go, but I shall be here early. Every one 
who is not wanted had better go to bed.” 

He went down-stairs as he spoke, but Jack remained where he 
was, thinking he might be at least useful in taking messages or 
calling people. He had never sat up all night before, and, anxious 
as he was, the hours were wofulty long. 

Once or twice his grandmother came to the head of the stairs, 
and Jack signaled that all was quiet. At last, over the stable clock, 
the dawn came creeping up; there was the solitary note of a bird, 
then a great twitter and the cawing of the rooks. 

Jack put his head out of the window, and felt the fresh, sharp 
air blowing in his face. A cock crowed — would it wake Cherry? 
Some one touched him oh the shoulder; he drew his head in, and 
Alvar stood by his side. 

“ He is much better,” he said. “ He has been so long asleep, and 
now the pain is less, and he can breathe— he is much better.” 

Jack was afraid to speak, but he gave Alvar’s hand a great 
squeeze. 

“ Now, will you go and tell my father this? Ah, how he will re- 
joice! But do not let him come.” 

Jack sped down-stairs and to his father’s door, which opened at 
the sound of a footstep. 

“ Papa, he is better. Alvar saysffie will get well.” 

Half a dozen hasty questions and answers, then Mr. Lester put 
Jack away from him and shut his door. 

They could hardly believe that the relief was more than a respite, 
but the gleam of hope brightened as the day advanced. Cherry 
slept again, and woke, able to speak and say that he was better. 

“ And I must tell you, sir,” said Mr. Adamson, afterward, “ that 
it is, in a great measure owing to your son’s good nursing.” 

Mr. Lester turned round to Alvar, who was beside him. 

“ I owe you a debt nothing can repay. 1 can never thank you 
for my boy's life,” he said warmly. 

“.Ah, do you thank me? You iusult me!” cried Alvar, sud- 
denly and fiercely. “ Is he more to you than to me — my one friend 
— my brother— Cherito mio /” And. completely overcome, Alvar 
clasped his hands over his face and dashed out of the room. 

Jack followed; but his admiration of Alvar’s self-control was 
somewhat shaken by the sort of fury of indignation and emotion 
that seemed to stifle him, as he poured out a torrent of words, half 
Spanish, half English, ’walking about the room and shedding tears 
of excitement. 

“ 1 say,” said Jack, “ they won’t let you go in to Cherry next, 
and then what will he do?” 

Alvar subsided after a few moments, and said, simply, and rather 
sadly— 

“ It is that my father does not understand me. Bu( no matter-^- 
Cherry is better— aH is right now,” 


102 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRi!. 


CHAPTER 11. 

FACE TO FACE. 

“ And with such words— a lie!— a lie! 

She broke my heart and flung it by.” 

In the early days of August, after as long a delay as she could 
find excuse for, Ruth Seyton returned to Elderth waite, knowing 
that Rupert was to come next week to Oakby for the grouse shoot- 
ing, and that Cheriton was ready to claim her promise; for as she 
came on the very day of her arrival to a garden-party at Mrs. Elles- 
mere’s, she held in her pocket a letter written jn defiance of her 
prohibition, urging her to let him speak to her again, and full of 
love and longing for her presence. 

She knew that Rupert was coming, for ike quarrel between them 
was at an end. Ruth had been very dull and desolate during' her 
quiet visit to some old friends of her mother's, very much shocked 
at hearing from Virginia of Cherry’s illness, and more self-reproach- 
ful dor having let him liuger in the damp shrubberies by her side 
than for the greater injury she had done him. 

She wrote on the spur of the moment, and seut Alvar a kind mes- 
sage of sympathy ; but every day her promise to Cheriton seemed 
more unreal, and when at last Rupert came, ashamed of the foolish 
dispute, and only wanting to laugh at and forget it, she yielded to 
his first word, and, though a little hurt to find how lightly he could 
regard a lover’s quarrel, was too happy to forgive ^nd be forgiven. 
But one thing she knew that he would not have forgiven, and that 
was her reception of Cheriton’s offer, and though it had never en- 
tered into her theories of life to deceive the real lover, she let it pass 
unconfessed— nay, let Rupert suppose, though she did not put it in 
words, that she had discovered “ Cheriton’s folly ” in time to put it 
aside. 

That she must shortly meet them both, and in each other’s -pres- 
ence, was the one thought in her mind, even while she heard from 
Virginia that Cherry was almost well again, and detected a touch of 
chagrin in her eager account of Ajvar’s clever and constant care. 
“ JNo, she had not seen him yesterday, but they would all meet to- 
day. ’ ’ 

Still it was startling, when the two girls came out into the garden 
of the Rectory, to see in the sunshine Cheriton Lester with a mallet 
in his hand, looking tall and delicate; but with a face of eager 
greeting turned lull on her own. 

In another moment he held her hand in- a close, tight grasp, as 
she dropped her eyes and hoped that he w.as better. 

“ Quite well now,” said Cheriton in a tone that Ruth fancied 
every one must interpret truly. 

“ That is, when he obeys orders,” said another voice; and Ruth 
felt her heart stand still, for liupert came up to Cheriton’s side and 
held out his hand to her. 

For the first time in her life she was sorry to see him. She could 


AIT ENGLISH SQUIBB. 103 

have screamed with the surprise, and her face betrayed an agitation 
that made Cheriton’s heart leap, a9 he attributed it to her meeting 
with him after his dangerous illness. 

“1 am quite well,” he repeated. “ X am not going to give any 
more trouble, 1 hope, now.” 

Rupert looked unusually full of spirits. “ Good news,” he whis- 
pered to Ruth, with a smile of triumph. She could hardly smile 
back at him. Alvar now came up and spoke to them. He looked 
very grave; as Ruth fancied, reproachful. 

Some one asked Ruth to play croquet, and she declined; then felt 
as it the game would have been a refuge. But she took what 
seemed the lesser risk, and walked' away with Rupert; and Cheriton 
tried in vain for the opportunity of a word with her — she eluded 
him, he hardly knew how. The sense of suspicion and suspense 
which had been growing all through the later weeks of his recovery 
was coming to a point. 

Ruth seemed like a mocking fairy, like some unreliable vision, as 
he saw her smiling and gracious — nay, answered occasional remarks 
from her— but could never meet her eyes, nor obtain from her one 
real response. 

These perpetual, impalpable rebuffs raised such a tumult in Cher- 
iton’s mind that he restrained himself with a forcible effort from 
some desperate measure which should oblige her to listen to him, 
while all his native reticence and pride could hardly afford him self- 
control enough to play his part without discovery. 

An equal sense of baffled discomfort pressed on Virginia. She 
had very seldom seen a cloud on Alvar’s brow; he never committed 
such an act of discourtesy as to be out of temper in her presence; 
but to-day he looked so stern as to prompt her to say timidly, “ Has 
anything vexed you, Alvar?”. 

“How could 1 be vexed when you are here, queen of my heart?” 
said Alvar turning to her with a smile. “ See, will you come to get 
some strawberries — it is hot?” 

“ 1 would rather you told me when things trouble you,” said Vir- 
ginia. 

'* It is not for you, mi doTxa y to hear of things that are troubling,” 
said Alvar, still rather abstractedly. 

” Are you still anxious about Cherry?” she persisted. 

“ Ay de mi, yes ; 1 am anxious about him,” said Alvar, sharply ; 
then changing, “ but 1 am ungallant to show you my anxiety. 
That is not for you.” 

“ Ah, how you misunderstand what 1 want!” she cried. “ If 1 
only knew what you feel, if 3^ou would talk to me about yourself! 
But it is like giving an eastern lady fine dresses and sugar-plums.” 

The gentle Virginia was angry and agitated. Ail through Cher- 
iton’s illness she had felt herself kept at a distance by Alvar, known 
herself unable to comfort him, had suffered pangs that were like 
enough to jealousy, to intensify themselves by self-reproach. Yet 
she gloried in Alvar’s devotion to his brother, in his skill and ten- 
derness. Alvar did not perceive what she wanted, and, moreover, 
was of course unable to tell her the present cause of his annoyance, 
at the existence of which he did not wish her to guess. 

Bee now,” he said, taking her hands and kissing them, “ how 


104 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

I am discourteous; 1 am .sulky, and 1 let you see it. Forgive me, 
forgive me, it shall be so no more. You shed tears; ah, my queen, 
they reproach me!” ' 

Virginia yielded to his caresses and his kindness, and blamed her- 
self. Some day, perhaps, in a quieter moment, she could show him 
that she wanted to share his troubles and not to be protected from 
them. In the meantime his presence was almost enough. 

Alvar, like some others of his name, was a peison of slow per- 
ception, and was apt to be absorbed in one idea at a time. He did 
not guess that while he paid Virginia all the courtesy that he 
thought her due she longed for a far closer union of spirits. He 
was proud of being Cheriton’s chief dependence during the tedious 
recovery that none of the others could bear to think incomplete, 
and to find that his tact and consideration made him a welcome 
companion when Jack’s ponderous discussions were too great a 
fatigue. But he would not endure thanks, and after the outburst 
with which he had received his father’s nobody proffered them. 
Not one of the others, full of anger with Buth and of anxiety for 
Cheriton, could have abstained from fretting him with one word on 
the subject, as Alvar did all that afternoon and evening. But his 
mind was free to think of nothing else. 

As for Ruth, the moment that should have been full of unalloyed 
bliss for her, the moment when Rupert told her that concealment 
was no longer necessary, was distracted by the terror of discovery. 

Rupert had to tell her that the sale of a farm, effected on un- 
usually advantageous terms, had made the declaration of his wishes 
possible to him, and lie was now ready to present himself belore her 
guardians and ask their consent to a regular engagement. Ruth was 
-about to go back to her grandmother, and all might now be well. 
Ruth did not know how to be glad; she could not tell -how deeply 
the Lesters might blame her. Her one hope was in Cheriton’s gen- 
erosity, and to him at least she must tell the wjhole truth. 

“ To-morrow I shall come and see you,” he said gravely, as he 
wished her good night, and she managed to give him an asseuting 
glance, but he knew that she was treating him ill, and tormented 
himself with a thousand fancies— that liis illness had changed him, 
that something during their separation had changed her, He said 
nothing, but the next day started alone for Elderth watte. 

It was a bright morning, with a clear blue sky. Cheriton passed 
into the wood and thiough the flickering shadows of the larches. 
He did not spend the time of his walk in forming any plans as to 
how h§ should meet Ruth; he set his mind on the one fact that a 
meeting was certain. But perhaps the brightness of the morning 
influenced his mood, for as he came out on to the bit of bare hill- 
side that divided the wood from the Elderth waite property, a cer- 
tain happiness of anticipation possessed him— circumstances might 
account for the discomfort of the preceding day, Ruth’s eyes might 
once more meet his own, her voice once more tell him that she loved 
him. 

The bit of fell was divided from Mr. Seyton’s plantation by a low 
stone wall, mossy, and overgrown with clumps of hare-bells aud 
parsley fern, and half smothered by the tall brackens and brambles 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 105 

that grew on either side ot it. Beyond were a few stunted, ill- 
grown oak-trees, with a wild undergrowth of hazel. 

As Cheriton came across the soft, smooth turf of the hill-side, he 
became aware that some one was sitting on the wall beside the wide 
gap that led into the plantation, and he quickened his steps with a 
thrill of hope as he recognized Ruth. She stood up as he approached 
and waited for him, as he exclaimed eagerly — 

“ This is too good of you!” 

“ Oh, no!” said. Ruth, and began to cry. 

Her eyes were red already, and with her curly hair less deftly ar- 
ranged than usual, and her 'little black hat pushed back from her 
face, she had an air indescribably childish and forlorn. 

• Every thought of resentment passed from Cheriton ’s mind, he 
was by her side in a moment, entreating to be told of her trouble, 
andjn his presence the telling of her story was so dreadful to her 
that perhaps nothing but the knowledge of Rupert’s neighborhood 
could have induced her to do it. Ruth hated to be in disgrace, and 
genuine as were her tears, she was not without a thought ot prepos- 
sessing him in her favor. But she could not run the risk of Ru- 
pert’s suddenly coming through the fir-wood. 

” Please come this way,” she said, breaking from him and skirt- 
ing along inside the wall till they were out of sight ot the pathway. 
Then she began, averting her face and plucking at the fern-leaves 
in the wall, 

” 1— I don’t know how to tell you, but you are so good and kind 
and generous, so much— much better than j am — you won’t be hard 
on me.” 

“ It doesn’t take much goodness to make me feel for your 
trouble,” said Olieriton, tenderly. “ Tell me, my love, and see if 
1 am hard.” 

“ Every one 'is hard on a girl who has been as foolish as I have.” 
Cheriton began to think that she was going to tell him of some 
undue encouragement given to some other lover in his absence or 
before her promise to him, and to believe that here was the explana- 
tion of all that had perplexed him. 

“ 1 shall never be offended when you tell me that I have no cause 
for offense,” he said, putting his hand down on hers as she fingered 
the fern-leaves. 

” Indeed , 1 would not have deceived you so long, but for your ill- 
ness,” said Ruth, a little more firmly. 

“ Deceived me! Dearest, don’t use such hard words of yourself. 
Tell me what ah this means. What fancy is this?” 

“ Will you promise —promise me to be generous and to forgive 
me? Oh, you may ruin all my life if you will,” said Ruth, pas^ 
sionately. 

“ 1 ruin your life! ah, you little know! When my life was given 
back to me, I was glad because it belonged to you,” said Cheriton, 
faltering in his earnestness. 

“ Then oh! Cherry, Cherry,” cried Ruth, suddenly turning on 
him and clasping her hands, “ then give me back my foolish 
promise— forget it altogether — let us befriends as we weie when 1 
was a little girl. Oh, Cherry, forgive me — 1 can not— can not do it!” 


106 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ What can you mean?” said Cheriton, slowly, and witn so little 
evidence of surprise that Ruth took courage to go on. 

“ Cherry!” she repeated, as if clinging to the name that marked 
her old relation to him; “Cherry, a longtime ago— last spring, I 
was engaged to some one else— to your cousin; but it suited him — 
us— to say nothing of it at first. And, oh! 1 was jealous and fool- 
ish, and we quarreled, and I was in a passion, and thought to show 
him I didn’t care. And you came that day at Milford, and 1 knew 
how good you were, and you begged so hard L couldn’t resist you— 
you gave me no time. And then very soon he came back, and 1 
knew I had made a mistake. 1 would have told you at once, in- 
deed I would, but for your illness. How could I then?” 

Cheriton stood looking at her, and while she spoke, his astonished 
gaze grew stern and piercing, till she shrunk from him and turned 
away. Then he said, with a sort cf incredulous amazement, with 
which rising anger contended, 

“ Then you never meant what you said? When you told me that 
you loved me, it was false— you did not mean to give yourself to 
me? You kissed me to deceive me?” 

“ Oh, Cheriton!” sobbed Ruth, covering her face— ‘ 4 don’t— don’t 
put it like that. I was very— very foolish — very wicked, but it was 
not all plain in that way. Won’t you forgive me? 1 was so very 
unhappy! I thought you were always kind—” 

“ Kind!” ejaculated Cheriton. “ There is only one way of put- 
ting it! Which is your lover, to which of us are you promised, to 
Rupert or to me?” 

Anger, scorn, and a pain as yet hardly felt, intensified Cheriton ’s 
accent. She had expected him to plead for himself, to bemoan his 
loss, and instead she shrunk and quailed before his judgment of her 
deceit. His last words awoke a spark of defiance, and suddenly, 
desperately, she faced him, and said, clearly, 

“To Rupert.” 

Cheriton put his hand back and leaned against the wall. He was 
beginning to feel the force of the blow. After a moment he raised 
his head, and looked at her again, with a face now pale and mourn- 
ful. 

“ Oh, Ruth, is it indeed so? Have 1 Nothing to hope— nothing 
even to remember? Hid you never mean it — never?” 

“ 1 was so angry — so miserable that 1 was mad,” faltered Ruth. 
“ 1 thought he was false to me. ” 

“ So you took me in to make up tor it?” said Cheriton roughly, 
his indignation again gaining ground. “ Well, 1 should thank you 
for at last undeceiving me!” 

He turned as if to go; but Ruth sobbed out,“ I know it was very 
wrong, indeed 1 am sorry tor you. 1 can never, never be happy, if 
you don’t forgive me.” 

44 What can you mean by forgiving?’* said Cheriton bitterly. 
“ I wish 1 had died betore I knew this! You have deceived me 
and made a fool of me, while I thought you— I thought you — ” 

“ Then,” cried Ruth, stung by the change of feeling his words 
implied, “ you can tell them all about Jt if you will, and ruin me!” 

44 What!” exclaimed Cheriton, starting upright. “Is that what 
you can think possible? Is that why you are crying? You may be 


107 


A 1ST' ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

perfectly happy! The promise youuhad the prudence to exact has 
been unbroken. No! when 1 thought that 1 was dying 1 told Alvar 
that you vmght be. spared any shock. Neither he nor 1'are likely to 
speak of it further. 1 had better wish you good-morning.” 

It was Cheiiton whose love had been scorned, whose hopes had 
all been dashed to the ground in the last halt-hour, and who had 
received a blow that had changed the world for him; but it had 
come in such a form that.the injured self respect struggled lor self- 
preservation. The first effect on his clear, upright nature was in- 
credulous anger, a sense ol resistance, oi shame and scorn, that, all- 
contending and half-suppressed, made him terrible to Ruth, whose 
self-deceit had expected quite another reception of her words. She 
had shrunk from the idea of giving him pain, had dreaded the 
confession of her own misdeeds; but she had indemnified her con- 
science to herself for ill-treating Cheriton by a soit of unnatural and 
unreal admiration of what she called his goodness; which seemed to 
lier'to render self-abnegation natural, if not easy, to him. 

• She. with her passionate feelings, her warm heart, might be tor- 
given for error; but he, since he was high-principled imd religious, 
would surely make it easier for her, would stand in an ideal relation 
to her and tell her that “ her happiness was dearer than his own.” 
“ Good ” people were capable of that sort of self-sacrificing devotion, 
^lie thought, as many . do, that Clieriton’s battle was less hard to 
fight, because he had hitherto had the strength to win it. Poor 
boy,* it had come to the forlorn hope now! He only knew that he 
must not turn and fly. 

As Ruth looked up at him all tear-stained and deprecatory, his 
mood changed. 

“ Oh, Ruth, Ruth— Ruth!” he cried, as he turned away, ” and I 
loved you so!” 

But he left her without a touch of the hand; without a parting, 
without a pardon. No other relations could replace for him those 
she had destroyed. Ruth watched him hurry across the fell and 
into the fir-wood, and then, as she sunk down among the ferns and 
gave way to a final burst of misery, she thought to herself, ‘‘ Oh, 
Rupert, Rupert, what 1 have endured for your sake!” 


CHAPTER 111. 

IN THE THICK OF THE FIGHT. 

Oh, that ’twere I had been false — not she!” 

In the meantime the uncouscious Rupert was strolling up and 
down in front of the house waiting for his uncle to come out, and 
intending to take him into his confidence and ask for his good 
offices with Ruth’s guardians. It was well for her that he had no 
suspicion of what was passing; tor little as she guessed it, he would 
have greatly resented her treachery toward Cheriton as well as to- 
ward himself. But Rupert was in high spirits, and when Mr. 
Lester joined him he told his tale with the best grace that he could. 
His uncle was pleased with the news, and questioned him pretty 
closely upon all its details, shook his head over the previous diffi- 


108 AN ENGLISH SQUIKTC 

culties 'which Rupert admitted, told him that he was quite right to 
he open with him, congratulated him when lie owned to having 
met with success with the lady herself, and, pleased with being con- 
sulted, threw himself heart and soul into the matter. 

As they came up toward the back ot the house, they met Alvar, 
who, rather hastily, asked if they had seen Cheriton. 

“ He went to take a walk. I am afraid he will be tired.” he ex- 
plained. 

“ Eh, Alvar, you’re too fidgety,” said his father good-humoredly. 

There’s Cheriton, looking at the puppies.” 

Alvar looked, and beheld a group gathered in the doorwaj 7- of a 
great barn, the figures standing out clear in the sunshine against The 
dark shadow behind. Nettie was standing in the center with her 
arms apparently full of whining little puppies; the mother, a hand- 
some retriever, was yelping and whining near. Buffer was barking 
and danciug in a state of frantic jealousy beside her. Bob and 
Jack were disputing over the merits of the puppies. Dick Seyton, 
with a cigar in his mouth, was leaning lazily against the barn door, 
while Cheriton, looking, to Alvar’s anxious eyes, startlingly pale, 
was standing near. 

“ But say, Cherry, say,” urged Nettie, “ which of them are to be 
kept? Don’t you think this is the best of all?” 

“That,” interrupted Bob, “that one will never be worth any- 
thing. Look, Cherry, this one’s head — ” 

“ Bob, what are you about here at this time in the morning?” 
said his father. “ 1 told you 1 must have some work done these 
holidays. Be off with you at once. ” 

Cherry said yesterday he would come and help me,” growled 
Bob. 

“7 want him,” said Mr. Lester. “ Got a piece of news for you, 
Cherry. No’ secret, Rupert, 1 suppose?” 

“I’ll tell Cherry presently,” said Rupert, thinking lire audience 
large and embarrassing. 

Cheriton started, and the unseeing look went out of his eyes, and 
for one moment he looked at Rupert as if he could have knocked 
him down. Then the reflection of his own look on Alvar’s face 
brought back the instinct of concealment, the self-respect that held 
its own, while all their voices sounded strange and confused, and 
he could hot tell how often his father had spoken to him or how 
i long ago. — - - 

» “1 think 1 can guess your news,” he said. “ But 1 must go in. 

Come back to the house with me, Rupert.” 

He spoke rather slowly but much in his usual manner. Rupert 
was aware that the news might not be altogether pleasant to him ; 
but he had the tact to 1 urn away wptn him at once; while Alvar 
watched them in utter surprise, the wildest surmises floating 
through his mind. But what Cherry wanted was to hear whether 
Rupert would confirm what Ruth had told him; somehow he could 
not feel sure. if it were true. 

“ How long have you been engaged?” he said; “ that was what 
you were going to tell me, wasn’t it?” 

“ My uncle is frightfully indiscreet,” said Rupert, with a con- 
scious laugh. “ Nothing has been settled yet with the authorities; 


AN- ENGLISH SQUIRE. 109 

but wahave understood each other for some time. She — she’s one 
in a thousand, and I don^t deserve my luck.’’ 

Rupert was very nervous; he had always thought that Cheriton 
had a boyish fancy for Ruth, though he was far from imagining its 
extent, and he was divided between a sense of triumph over him 
and a most real desire not to let the triumph be apparent, or to give 
him unnecessary pain. Being successful he could afford to be gen- 
erous, and talked on fast lest Cherry should say something for 
which he might afterward be sorry. 

“ I suppose we haven’t kept our secret so well as we thought,” 
he, said, laughing, “ as you guessed it so quickly. All last spring 1 
was afraid of Alvar's observations.” 

“ Did Alvar know? He might have— he might — ” Cheriton 
stopped abruptly, conscious only of passion hitherto unknown. 
He never marveled afterward at tales of sudden wild revenge. In 
that first hour of bitter wrong he could have killed Rupert had a 
weapon been in his hand, have challenged him to a deadly duel, 
had such a thought been instinctive to his generation. Rupert did 
not look at him, or the wrath in his eyes must have betrayed him. 
He longed to revenge himself, to tell Rupert all; even his sense of 
honor shook and faltered in the storm. “ She promised me! She 
kissed me!” The words seemed to sound in his ears, something 
within held them back from liis lips. Another moment, and Alvar 
touched his arm. 

‘‘ Come in, Cheriton, the wind is cold,” he said. “ Come in with 
me.” 

Rupert, glad to close the interview, little as he guessed how it 
might have ended, turned away, saying, with a half -laugh, “ I must 
go and check Uncle Gerald’s communications; they are too pre- 
mature.” 

Then Cheriton felt himself tremble from head to foot; he knew 
that Alvar was talking, uttering words of vehement sympathy, but 
he could not tell what they were. 

“ You came in time — you came in time to save me!” said Cheriton 
wildly, as his senses began to recover their balance. He turned 
away his face for a tew moments, then spoke collectedly. 

“ Thank you. That is all over now! You see I’m not strong yet. 
You will not see me like this again. Tne one thing is to prevent 
any one from guessing; above all, my father.” 

“ But, my brother', how can you — you can not conceal from all 
that you suffer?” said Alvar dismayed. 

“ Can not 1? 1 will, ” said Cheriton, with his mouth set, while 
his hands still trembled. 

“ Why? You have done no wrong, ” said Alvar. “ Are you the 
first who has been deceived by a faithless woman? She i^ but a 
w'oman, my brother; there are others. You feel now that-you could 
stab your rival to revenge yourself. Ah, that will pass; she’s only 
a woman. Heavens! I tore my hair. 1 wept. 1 told all my 
friends of my despair; it was the sooner over. You will find 
others.” 

“We usually keep our disappointments to ourselves, ’ ’ said Cheriton 
coldly. “ 1 could not forgive any betrayal. Row I’ll go in by my- 


y 

110 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

sell. HI come clown to lunch. As you say, I’m not the first fellow 
who has been made a fool of.” 

“ What will he do?” thought Alvar as he reluctantly left him. 
“ He would forgive his rival sooner than himself. They pretend to 
feel nothing, my brothers, that gives them much trouble. If 1 were 
to tell a falsehood to please them, they would despise me; but 
Cheriton will tell many falsehoods to hide that he grieves.” 

Cheriton gathered himself up enough to hide his rage and grief, 
hardly enough in any way to struggle with them, and the suffering 
Was as uncontrollable, and as exhausting as the pain and fever of 
his late illness. It shut out even more completely the remembrance 
of anything but his own sensations. And it was all so bitter — he 
felt the injury so keenly — he had not yet power to feel the loss. 
He kept up well, however, ancl during the next two or three days 
his father saw nothing amiss; while Alvar, though anxious about 
liis health, regarded the misery as a phase that must have its way. 
But Nettie declared that Cherry was cross, and Jack, who had lately 
acquired the habit of noticing him, felt that he was not himself. It 
was difficult to define; but it seemed to him as if his brother never 
looked, spoke or acted exactly as might have been expected. Things 
seemed to pass him by. 

The twelfth of August proving hopelessly wet and wild, even Mr. 
Lester could not think his joining the shooting-party allowable, and 
Cheriton expressed a proper amount of disappointment; but Jack 
recollected that when they had all been speculating on the weather 
the night before, Cherry had baldly turned his head to look at it. 
He would not let Alvar stay at home with him, and felt glad to be 
free from observation. 

In the meantime matters had not. gone much more pleasantly at 
Elderthwaite. Ruth was in suck dread of discovery that even in 
Rupert’s presence she could not be at ease. Her conscience re- 
proached her, and she was by no means sure that Rupert was quite 
unsuspicious, for he talked a good deal about his cousin, and once 
said that he thought him much changed by his illness. Neither 
was she happy with Virginia, toward whom a certain amount of 
.confidence was necessary, as she could not lead her to suppose that 
all had been freshly settled with Rupert; and Virginia, who was 
usually reticent and shy, questioned her closely as to Rupert’s be- 
havior and modes of action, indeed she marveled at her cousin’s 
ignorance, for Alvar seemed to her to imply displeasure in every 
look. He came seldom to Elderthwaite, and, when there, scarcely 
spoke of Cherry. Ruth could only hurry her return to her grand 
mother, which was to take place in a few days; but an Oakby din- 
ner-party, in honor of the engagement, could not be avoided. Ruth 
dared, not have a headache or a cold, and in a ^tremor most unlike 
her usual self she prepared to meet her two lovers face to face. It 
Cheriton had any mercy for her, or any feeling for himself, he 
would avoid her. How little she had once thought ever to be afraid 
of Cherry! But he was there, with a flower in his coat, and plenty 
of conversation, apparently on very good terms with Rupert, and 
facing the greeting with entire composure. He even ate his dinner; 
he sat, not opposite Ruth, but low down on the other side of the 
table, while she had Alvar for her neighbor— a very silent one, as 


A1ST ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


Ill 

Virginia, on his other side, remarked with a sigh. It would have 
been natural for her to talk to Rupert, who sat on the other side of 
her, but she felt Cheriton ’s eyes on her in all their peculiar intense- 
ness of expression. Ruth was very sensitive, and they seemed to 
mesmerize her; she grew absolutely pale, and she knew that Rupert 
saw it. How could Cheriton be so cruel ! 

Her white face and drooping lip flashed the same thought to 
Cheriton himself. What a coward he was thus to revenge himself. 

He turned his head away with a sudden rush of softening feeling. 
Disappointed love and jealousy had, she told him, driven her mad 
— what were they making of him? At least it 'was more manly to 
let her alone. 

“ Cheriton, I want a word with you,” said Rupert, turning into 
the smoking-room when the party was over. “ Of course you have 
a right to refuse to answer me — but — I can’t but observe your man- 
ner. Do you consider yourself in any way aggrieved by my engage- 
ment?” 

It did not occur to Cherjton that, if Rupert had had full trust in 
Ruth, he would never have put such a question. He was conscious 
of such unusual feelings that he knew not how far he stood self-be- 
trayed in manner. Rupert was his cousin, almost as intimate as a 
brother, and he could not resent the question quite as if it had come 
from a stranger. It could have been answered by a short negative, 
leaving the sting that had prompted it where it had been before. 
Full of passion and resentment as Cheriton. still was, he could not 
now have broken his word and deliberately betrayed the girl who 
had betrayed him. 

He was silent for a minute; still another part was open. At ‘last 
he looked up at Rupqrt and said — 

“I made her an offer— she lias refused me. Don’t mind my 
way — there’s an end of it.” 

“ Cherry, you’re a good fellow, a real good fellow — thank you!” 
said Rupert warmly. “ I’m sorry, with all my heart.” 

“ Don’t think about me,” repeated Cheriton rather stiffly. “ But 
I’ll say good night.” 

He was so obviously putting a great force on himself that Rupert, 
feeling that he could not be the one to offer sympathy, would not 
detain him; but as he. gave his hand a hearty squeeze. Cherry, with 
another great effort, said — 

”1 do wish her — happiness,” then turned away and hurried 
upstairs. 


CHAPTER IV. 

STRUGGLING. 

“ And my faith is torn to a thousand scraps, 

And my heSart feels ice while my words breathe flame . 11 

It was a wild, wet morning, some days after the Oakby dinner- 
party. Summer weather was apt in those regions to be invaded in 
August by something very like autumn; bits of brown- and yellow 
appeared here and there among the green, and fires became essential. 
To-day the mist was driving past the windows of the boys’ sitting- 


112 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE, 

room, blotting; out the view, till the wind rent it apart and showed 
dim sweeps of distant moor. 

Bob Lester was sitting at the table, with his eyes fixed, not on the 
exceedingly inky copy of Yirgil before him, but on the window, as 
he remarked dolefully — 

“ Birds are wild enough already, without all this wind to make 
them worse.’ ’ 

Jack was writing at the other' end of the table; IN ettie, with an 
old water-proof cloak ofl^ was kneeling on the window-seat, w'atcli- 
in the weather, with Buffer, apparently similarly occupied, by her 
side; and Clieriton, with considerable sharpness of manner, was en- 
deavoring to drive- ttye Latin lesson into Bob’s head. 

For Bob was under discipline. Such a bad report of him hail 
come from school as to idleness, troublesomeness, and general mis- 
behavior, that his father, after a private interview, the nature of 
which Bob did not disclose, had ordered a certain amount of work 
to be done every day, to be taken back to school, and had forbidden 
a gun or a fishing-rod to be touched till this was accomplished. 
Cherry in the early days of his convalescence, had received Bob’s 
growls on the subject, andliad offered to help him, as Jack’s efforts 
as a tutor were notfound to answer, and had actually coaxed a certain 
amount of information into him. Lately, however, the lessons had 
not gone oft so well. Clieriton had made a great point of them, and 
held Bob as if in a vise by. the force of his will; but he was sarcastic 
instead of playful, and contemptuous instead of encouraging, and 
now lost patience, laying down his book and speaking in a cutting, 
incisive tone, that made Bob start and stare. 

“ We have all got aims in life, I suppose; 1 wish we were all as 
likely to succeed in them as you are, Bob.’' 

“ i haven’t got an aim in life/” said Boh, turning round as if 
affronted. 

“ No? I thought your aim v/as to be the greatest dunce in the 
county, it’s well to know one’s own line, aud do a thing well while 
one’s about it.- A low aim’s a mistake in all things.” 

Jack laid down his pen, and stared hard at Clieriton. Bob waited 
unconscious, expecting the smile and twinkle that took the sting 
out-of all Cherry’s mischief, but none came. 

“ Come now, you needn’t be down on a fellow in that way,” he 
said, angrily. “ My line mayn’t be yours, but I’ll — I’ll stick to it 
one day.” 

“ I 'just observed that you were sticking to it now, heart and 
soul. Let fill your wits lie fallow; with the skill and energy you 
are showing at present, you may get to the level of a olowboy in- 
time.” 


“ I say, Cherry,” said Jack, “ that’s a little strong.” 

Bob shut the book with a bang and stpod up. 

“ I’m not going to stand that,” he said; aud Cheriton recollected * 
himself and colored. “ 1 beg your pardon. Bob,” he said. “ It 
was too bad. I was only joking. Will you go on now?” . 

“ No,” said Bob. ‘‘ 1 won’t be made game of.” 

“You tire Cherry to death, ” said J ack. “No wonder he loses 
patience.” 


f 


AH ENGLISH - SQUIRE. 113 

“ 1 didn’t ask him to do it,” said Bob_ “Nettie, where are you. 
going?” _ 

“ Out,” said Nettie, briefly. 

“ Then I’m going too,” said Bob, following her; while Oheriton 
wearily threw himself down on the cushions in the window-seat 
and in his turn stared out at the mist. Jack sat and watched him. 
He had never uttered a word even to Alvar, but he was full of 
anxiety. What was the matter with 'Cherry? 

He was lively enough at meal-times and with his father and grand- 
mother; he had resumed all his usual liabils, except that the bad 
weather had prevented him from going out shooting. He had 
laughed at Alvar for being overanxious "about him, and had, taken 
a great deal of unnecessary trouble about sundry village matters 
and affairs at home. He had talked what Alvar called “ philosophy ” 
to Jack with unusual seriousness; and yet Jack, with whom perhaps 
he was least on liis guard, missed something. Apd then Mrs. Elies* 
mere had remarked that she did not like to see Gheriton with such 
a pink color and such black circles round his eyes, and had warned 
her husband not to let him fatigue himself on some walk they were 
taking. Surely Cherry coughed oftener, and was more easily tired, 
than he had been ten days ago. 

Jack could bear it no longer, and began, severely — 

“ Cherry, you shouldn’t worry yourself with Bob. It’s too much 
for you.” 

44 Not generally,” said Cheriton. “ I’m tired to-day.” 

“What’s the matter with you, Cherry?” -said Jack, coming 
nearer. 

“ The matter?” said Cherry, sitting up, and laughing more in his 
usual way. 44 What should be the matter? Are you taking a leaf 
out of Alvar’s book? Of course, one isn’t very strong afteivsuch an 1 
illness, and 1 don’t sleep alw r ays. 1 shall go away, I think, soon, 
and then 1 shall be right enough.” 

44 Where will you go to? Let me go with you. Hr must it be 
Alvar?” 

“ Oil. 1 shall be best alone. Don’t worry. Jack. I’m no worse, 
really.” • 

Poor Cheriton! His efforts at concealment, made half in pride, 
and half in consideration, were not very successful. 

As he lay awake through the long nights. Rath’s woful look and 
appealing eyes haunted him, and as he remembered their parting, 
his own bitter scorn came back on him with a pang, partly, no 
jdoubt, because she was still irresistible to him, but partly, also, be- 
cause he knew that he had felt the temptation under which she had 
fallen. She had treated him shamefully; and she declared that 
her excuse was, if excuse it coiild be called, that she had been driv- 
en so frantic by her misjudgment of Rupert, that anything seemed 
legitimate that would give him pain. She had transgressed every 
code of womanly honor, and had cost Cheriton pain beyond expres- 
sion by obeying a sudden impulse of mortified passion. Any sort 
of revenge on her by Cheriton was at least as incompatible with any 
standard of social obligation, no extra high principle was needed lo 
condemn it; to take such a blow and be silent over it seemed a mere 
mattei of course. Cheriton was' very high-principled, he had con- 


114 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

quered in his time strong temptations; moreover, he was more than 
commonly loving and tender, and yet he felt that there had been 
more than one moment when he might have committed this utter 
baseness. He forgot for a moment that he had conquered, that 
strength, however unconscious, had come to him from his former 
struggles, and had held him back; he felt that if this were possible 
to him, he was sate from nothing. He shuddered as he thought of 
his interview with Rupfert, and his first prayer since the blow turned 
into a thanksgiving. 

But any thought of his own conduct was soon' swept away by the 
rush of regret and pain. She had failed him, however unworthy he 
might be to judge her; and as he remembered the many sweet and 
enchanting moments that had led up to his final disappointment, 
lie could not but feel that she had deliberately deceived him. And 
yet — and yet— as he recalled her face at the dinner-table, he knew 
that he would have comeback to her at a word; he felt as if life was 
worth nothing without her, as if father and brothers, home, in- 
terests, and ambitions had all lost their charm. Cheriton retained 
enough command over himself to resolve to make head against this 
state of mingled regret and bitterness; he could not yet bring him- 
self to accept it with any sort of submission; his feelings of grati- 
tude and joy at his returning strength seemed almost as if they had 
been sent in mockery to make disappointment more cruel. But this 
thought brought its own remedy. His life had been given back to 
him, not surely only that he might endure this fierce trial— something 
would pome out of the furnace. And when he remembered what his 
well-being was to his father, the resolution of self -conquest was made 
in something else than pride. “ God help me. I’ll learn my lesson!” 
.he thought; and he dimly felt' that that lesson meant more than 
putting •£. bold face on things, or even than a surface recovery of 
spirits, of the probability of which last he was of course then no 
judge. It meant whether this bitter trial was to leare him more or 
less of a man than it found him— more of a Christian if he would 
not be less of a man. 

It must not be supposed that Cheritbn at this time attained with 
any permanence to such convictions —he worked his way to them at 
intervals; but. after all, most of his sleepless hours were spent in a 
hopeless involuntary recall of his past happiness. Ruth haunted 
him as if she had been a spirit, and of course the over-fatigue pro- 
duced by the effort to force his mind into its usual channels affected 
his health, and made him still less able to fight against his troubles. 

He was very reluctant to confess himself beaten, and began to 
talk to Jack with would-be eagerness about going to London and 
beginning his reading for the bar. His name had been entered at 
the lemple, most of his “ dinners ” were eaten, and he had never 
intended his time of waiting tor a brief to be an idle one. Presently 
his father called him, and he started up and went down-stairs, while 
Jack went back to his writing with divided attention, and dinrsus- 
picions of the truth gaining ground. 

Meanwhile Cheriton found himself called to a conference in the 
study. 

All the arrangements for Alvar’s marriage had been deferred 
through Cheriton’s illness, and Mr. Lester felt it somewhat strange 


115 


AH ENGLISH SQUIKE. 

that he should be the first person who saw the need of recommenc- 
ing them, He fold Alvar that he wished to speak to him, and made 
a sort of apology to him for Cheriton’s presence by saying that he 
wished him to hear the money arrangements which he thought fit 
to make. 

“ I am sure, Alvar, ” said Mr. Lester, formally, “ you have shown 
great unselfishness in putting your o tvn aftairs so completely on one 
side during your brother’s illness: but now there is no longer any 
reason for deferring the consideration of. your marriage, and I 
should be glad to know what plans you may have formed for the 
future.” 

” It is your wish, sir, that 1 should be married —soon?” said Alvar, 
coolly and deferentially.* 

” Why —October was mentioned from the first, wasn’t it?” said 
Mr. Lester, with a sort of taken-aback manner that made Cheriton 
smile. 

“ Yes,” said Alvar. “ If that is your desire, and Mr. Seytou ap- 
proves, 1 should wish it.” 

“ Why— why— haven’t you settled it all with Virginia?” 

” I did not think one should trouble a lady with those matters, nor 
did I wish to marry while my brother might need me.” 

” That was very good of you; but I hope by that time to be in 
London,” said Cherry, decidedly, and with a look, conveying cau- 
tion. 

Alvar was silent for a moment, and then said, with what Cheri- 
toon called his princely air, 

“ I shall then marry in October, and I will take my wife to visit 
my friends and my mother country.” 

” Why, yes; that would be very proper, no doubt; and I think 
you once told me that } r ou wished to take a house in London.” 

“ That would be good luck for me,” said Cherry, by way of en- 
couragement. 

“Yes,” said Alvar, “ 1 wish it to be so.” 

Mr. Lester then entered into an explanation of the means which he 
was prepared to place at Alvar’s disposal, talked of house rent and 
of Virginia’s fortune, and said a few words on the amount of his 
own means, and what he meant to do for the younger ones. Nettie 
was provided for by her mother’s fortune, a smaller proportion of 
which would be inherited by the sons also at their father’s death. 
“ But,” as Mr. Lester concluded, “ Qf course they all know that in 
the main they must look to tlieii own exertions.” 

“ Of couise,” said Cheriton. 

Alvar looked very much surprised. 

“The boys,” he said, ‘‘yes; but I thought, my father, you 
would wish that Cheriton should be rich.” 

” Alvar,” said Mr. Lester, rising and speaking with real dignity, 
“ you misunderstand me. In such matters 1 can make no distinc- 
tions between my sons. Cheriton and his brothers stand exactly on 
the same footing. As for you, you will have to represent the old 
name, and keep the old place on its proper level. I shall not stint 
you of the means of doing so with ease and dignity.” 

Alvar cast down his eyes, and a curious look as of a sort of op- 
pression passed over his face. 


W ' AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ That will he an “obligation to me,” he £aid, gravely. “ You 
are most— honorable to me, my father.” 

“ Not at all,” said Mr. Lester. “ 1 should not think of acting 
otherwise. Well— now you had better be off to Elderthwaite and 
settle all your affairs.” 

Alvar left the room, and Mr. Lester burst out, 

“ 1 declare, there’s something about that fellow that makes me 
feel as if 1 were a schoolboy!” Then, a little ashamed of the ad- 
mission, he went on, “ 1 like to see more ardor in a lad- when his mar- 
riage is in question. Why, Rupert lived at Elderthwaite, while he 
was here!” 

“ We must make allowance for the difference of manners,” said 
Cherry. “ Alvar is very good to me. But, father, 1 don’t think 1 
shall be strong enough to shoot this month; it would be foolish to 
catch another cold; so 1 thought 1 should like a little trip some- 
where soon— just a change before I settle down to work again.” 

“ Why, yes,”- said Mr. Lester; “of course, if you wish, though 
we haven’t had much good of you since you came home, my boy 
Where do you want to go?” 

” 1 don’t know— to Paris, perhaps;” said Cherry, on the spur of 
the moment. “ Huntingtord and Donaldson both asked me to join 
them this summer; so 1 shouldn’t interfere with Alvar. Then, 
afterward I can make all my arrangements for London.” 

‘‘ Well, yes,” said Mr. Lester, reluctantly; “if you can’t shoot, 
there’s no use, of course, in your going to Milford or Ashrigg.” 

Jack can go; it’s time he went about a little, and he will be a 
better shot than 1 am soon. And when I come back, I’ll be ready 
for anything.” 

Cherry’s energy was quite natural enough to deceive his father, 
especially as he kept out of sight during this interview; but when 
he went away from the study, his heart suddenly failed him, and 
lie felt as if he never should have the courage to set about carrying 
out the plans on which he had just been insisting. 


CHAPTER V. 

MISGIVINGS. 

“ I looked for that which is not, nor can be.” 

A few days before Alvar’s interview with his father, Rupert had 
left Oakby to make his personal application to Ruth Bey ton’s 
guardians, backed up by a letter from Mr. Lester, and by her own 
communication to her grandmother. Of course, nothing could be 
said of the six months of mutual understanding, and this conceal- 
ment weighed lightly enough on Ruth’s conscience. She vexed. 
Y irginia by her reserve on all the details of her engagement, but 
what really troubled her was her parting interview with Rupert, as 
they were alone together in the garden at Elderthwaite. 

This had once been laid out in the Italian style with fountains, 
statues, and vases, stiff, neat paths, and little beds cut in the smooth 
turf and full of gay color. Of all kinds of gardening, this kind can 
least bear neglect, and at Elderthwaite a few occasional turns with 


AN KNGLTSH SQUTHN. 117 

the scythe and a sprinkling^)! weedy-looking flowers did not suffice 
to make it a pleasant resort. 

Ruth sat on the pedestal of a broken nymph by the sideot a dried- 
up tountain. This garden was supposed to be “ kept up,” so some 
flaring: yellow nasturtiums and other inexpensive flowers filled the 
Httle beds round. It was a dull day, and the weather wa§ chilly, 
and' Ruth in her crimson shawl looked by far the most cheerful ob- 
ject in the garden. Rupert had stuck some of the nasturtiums in 
her hat, and they suited her dark hair and warm, clear skin. After 
a great deal of talk, entirely satisfactory to both, Rupert said, 
lightly — 

“By the way, 1 thought 1 would take Master Cherry to task 
for his manner to you the other night.” 

“ Cherry— -his manner— what do you mean?” stammered Ruth, 
with changing color. 

“ Well, I was rather sorry I had said' anything about it, but he 
was very frank, poor boy, and told me you had refused him.” 

“ 1 — I did not think you would have asked him such a question,” 
said Ruth, hardly knowing what she said in the agony of fear, re- 
lief, and shame. 

“Oh, well, we’re almost like brothers, you know, and 1 was not 
going to have him make such great eyes at you for nothing. What 
had he to reprt>ach you with?” 

The words were more an exclamation than a question, but they 
terrified Ruth, and she pressed coaxipgly up to Rupert, and said with 
a good deal of agitation— 

“ Oh, 1 am very sorry — very; but — but of course 1 couldn’t tell 
of him — could 1 ? And he is so impetuous and so set on his own 
way! But 1 don’t want you to be angry with him, poor boy, or— 
or with me, for, oh! my darling, we musn’t quarrel again, or it 
would kill me!” 

“Is she afraid I shall find out how much encouragement she gave 
him?” said Rupert in his teasing way. 

“ Oh! he didn’t want much encouragement ,” said Ruth. “ But 
there, never mind, he’ll soon forget all about me. Did you think 
no one ever liked me but you?” 

Iiupert’s^rejoinder was cut short by the appearance of Virginia, 
and Ruth ran toward her, for once glad to leave Rupert. She tried 
to persuade herself that she had told him no direct falsehood, but 
the memory of her two interviews with Cheriton lay heavy on her 
soul. 

She knew that she had sinned against her own article of faith, her 
love for Rupert; and her perfect pride and glory in its perfection 
was marred. She had fallen below her own standard; she could no 
longer feel that she acted out her own ideal. Ruth was a girl 
capable of an ideal, though she had not set up a lofty one. Perhaps 
every one lias some standard, however poor, and the crucial test of 
character may bo whether we pull it down to suit our failures, or 
no. Ruth at this time was earnestly endeavoring to do so, but it 
did not come easy to her, and by way of set-off she occupied herself 
with being exceedingly kind to Virginia, whom she was beginning 
to consider injured, and in whom she recognized an unexpected 
warmth of resentment. Not that Virginia ever uttered a complaint 


118 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

of Alvar, but she avoided his name in so marked a manner, and 
looked so unhappy, that she was sell- betrayed. 

They were sitting together in the drawing-room, on the day ot 
Alvar’s interview with Mr. Lester. It was a dreary, unhomelike* 
looking room on that wet, cloudy day, but Ruth, spite of misgiv- 
ings, had a bright prosperous air as she sat writing to Rupert, cuils^ 
ribbons, and ornaments all in order, the deep red bauds on her sum- 
mer dress giving it a cheerful air even on a wet day. 

Virginia was sitting in the window doing nothing; she was pale, 
and her white dress with its elaborate bouncings^ had seen more 
than one wearing. She did not look expectant of a lover. Ruth 
watched her for a little while, and tl^en said, slyly, — 

“He cometh not, she said, 

She said I am aweary, aweary; 

I would that I were dead !” 

“ Ruth! how can you?” exclaimed Virginia, indignantly. “ Who 
would expect anybody on such a wet day as this? Of course 1 
don’t?” 

“ Queenie!” said Ruth, springing up and Kneeling down beside 
her, “ I don’t like to see you look so miserable. If Don Alvar is a 
lukewarm lover, he’s not good enough for my Queenie, and he 
sha’n’t have her. There!” 

“You have no right to say such a thing, Ruth. 1 may be silly 
and foolish, but I won’t hear any one find fault with him, not even 
you!” 

“ Bravo, Queenie! but 1 wasn’t going to find fault with him ex- 
actly. 1 dare say he thinks it is all right enough, only- -only that’s 
not my idea of a lover! Give him a little pull up, Queenie; scold 
him— if you can.” 

Virginia colored, trembled, and scarcely refrained from tears. 

• “ You make me reproach myself, Ruth,” she said, “ for being so 
silly and exacting. It ought to please me that Alvar is so good and 
kind, and that at last his people have found him out. It does — ” 

“ Look!” exclaimed Ruth, pointing out of window. “ Who 
comes there? And your gown is crumpled, and your necktie is 
faded, and you’re not fit to be seen! Run— run and adorn your- 
self!” 

But Virginia hardly heard her, she was too eager to see Alvar for 
any delay, and, hurrying to the garden-door, she opened it, while 
Ruth recollected the awkwardness ot an interview with Alvar and 
fled. But he was far too punctilious to come into the drawing- room 
with his. wet coat, hat, and umbrella, and he waved his hand to 
Virginia and went round to the front door, where, in the hall, he 
met Ruth, and acknowledged her as he passed with a stately bow 
that nearly annihilated her. 

Virginia had meant to be distant and reproachful, but her resolu- 
tions always melted in Alvar’s presence; he was so delightful to her 
that she forgot all her previous vexations. Demonstrative she never 
could be to him, but she contrived to say, — 

“ It is a long time since you were here, dear Alvar.” 

“ Ah, yes,” he said, “ mi dofia, too long indeed; but we have had 
people in the house, and Cherry is not strong enough to entertain 
them.” 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 119 

“ How is he?” asked Virginia, feeling, as she always did, as if 
rebuked for selfishness. 

“ Pretty well; this rain is bad for him; he may not go out,” said 
Alvar, wlio did not wish to represent Cheriton as specially unwell 
just then. “ But see, mi querida, I have been talking to my father, 
and he gives me courage to Bpeak of the future.” 

And then in the most deferential manner Alvar unfolded his 
plans, ending by saying— 

“ And you will come with me to Seville that I may show my 
English bride to my countrymen, and teach them what flowers 
grow in England?” 

“ I would rather go to Spain than, anywhere else,” said Virginia, 
all misgivings gone. “ I hope they will — like me.” 

“ Ah,” said Alvar, smiling, “ there is no fear. They would not 
like those boys— but you— they would worship!” 

Virginia laughed gayly, and he continued presently, touching the 
bow on her dress — 

“ But this ribbon — it is not a pretty color. 1 am rude, but 1 do 
not like iU” 

“ Oh, Alvar, 1 am very sorry. Ruth said 1 ought to change it. I 
thought you would not come, and 1 didn’t care for my ribbons. I 
do not care — except when you see me.” 

There was a break in her voice as she looked at Alvar with eyes 
full of pathetic appeal for a response to the love she gave him. 

Alvar smiled tenderly. 

‘‘We will soon change it,” he said, and, opening the vglass door 
again, he picked two crimson roses that climbed over it, shOok the 
rain-drops carefully from their petals, and then fastened them into 
Virginia’s hair and dress. “ There!” he said, ‘‘ that is the royal 
color, the color for my queen. See, 1 must have a share of it. 
Give me the rosebud.” 

Virginia stood for a moment with her eyes cast dow T n. She could 
have thrown herself into Alvar’s arms, and poured forth her feelings 
with a fervor of expression that might have startled him, but the 
doubt and timidity which she had never lost toward him restrained 
her; she put the rose into his coat and was happy. The sun came 
out through the clouds, they strplled through the garden together, 
and Alvar talked to her about Spain, his stately old grandfather, 
his many cousins, and all the surroundings of his old life. 

When he left her at length, and she ran indoors to Ruth, she was 
another creature from the pale, lifeless girl who had w r atched the 
rain-clouds in the morning. 

Alvar, too, went home w 7 ell pleased with his morning, and ready 
to make himself agreeable, and as he came through the larch wood 
into the park, he suddenly encountered the twins. 

Nettie w r as standing with her back to a tree, a very shabby-look- 
ing book under her arm. She was scarlet, and almost sobbing with 
indignation. Bob was opposite to her, evidently having got the 
upper hand in their dispute. He was talking in a downright de- 
cisive voice, and ended with, — 

“ And so 1 tell you, 1 won’t have it.” 

“ l don’t care.” # 

“ If you do it again, I’ll tell, Cherry.” 


120 AN ENGUSH SQUIRE. 

“ Well, tell him, then! 1’11 tell him myself. He would do just 
the same, 1 know he would.” 

“ Then why do you get up in the morning and go out — ?” 

Here Bob caught sight of 'Alvar and stopped short. 

“ What is the matter with you two? Why do you dispute?”, said 
Alvar, good-naturedly. 

“ Nothing.” said Bob shortly; “ 1 was only talking to Nettie.” 

“ W e were only talking,” said Nettie; and th^y walked away to- 
gether, with a manifest determination to exclude Alvar from a 
share even in their quarrels. Interfering between the twins, Cheri- 
ton had once said,, was like interfering between husband and wife; 
the peace-maker got the worst of it 

Apparently Clieriton was experiencing this truth, for when Alvar 
came in, he heard sounds of lively discussion in the library. His 
father was speaking in a loud, clear voice,’ and with his Westmore- 
land tones strongly marked, a sure sign that he was in a passion. 
Jack was standing very upright, looking impatient and important. 
Cherry sat listening, but with an irritated movement of the lingers, 
and a flush of annoyance on his face. It had been a rough time 
/lately at Oakby, and Mr. Lester was just anxious enough about 
Clieriton to be ready to find fault with him. 

“ No, Clieriton,” he was saying, as Alvar entered, “ I’ll not hear 
a word of the kind. It’s a fine result of your influence over the 
lads jf it’s to lead to this sort of mischief. Warn them! 1 forbid 
it positively. You have made too much of these boys, letting them 
write to you at Oxford. Much good their writing does them, and 
lending them books beyond them. No, I’ll do my duty by my 
tenants in every way — education and all; but there’s a limit.” 

“ But, father,” said Cherry, “ 1 can’t make it out. Of course, if 
Wilson has seen the young Flemings in the copses, I’m very sorry; 
but anyhow, it would be better to try to talk to them.” 

“ No, I’ll not have it done. Wilson has orders to watch to-night, 
and if they’re caught, over to Hazelby they shall go, and no beg- 
ging off for them.” 

‘ r Oh, father,” said Cherry, starting up; “ do let me go ana see 
them this afternoon. 1 haven’t been near them since 1 was ill, and 
I’m sure I can find out the truth of it. It’s ruin to a lad to get into 
a row with the keepers, and they are capital fellows. Just let me 
try.”. 

“ What is the matter?” asked Alvar. 

“ Why,” said his father, “ some young fellows that Clieriton has 
a special fancy for, have been poaching in my copses!” 

“ Why, they deserve hanging for it!” said Alvar. 

“ Hanging!” cried Jack. “ The evils of the Game Laws—’’ 

“Oh, nonsense, Jack. Put that in your ‘ Essay on the Evils of 
all Sorts of Governments, * ” said Cherry; then turning to the 
squire, “ But they are not poachers, father.” 

“ 1 will not be interfered with. You take too much on yourself,” 
said Mr. Lester; then, seeing Clieriton look first blankly amazed, 
then angry, and finally hurt beyond measure, he suddenly softened. 

“ Well, you can go and see them if you wish. Don’t vex your- 
self, my ifid; you make too much of it. But you’re looking better 
thitn you did yesterday. ’ * * 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 121 

“Oh, my head ached yesterday,” said Cherry brightly; but dfe 
looked up at his father with a sudden pang and sense of ingrati- 
tude, "Why could he care so little for anything, so little for the 
Flemings, even while he argued in their behalf? He lingered a . 
little, talking to his father, while Jack returned to his essay “ On 
the Evils Inherent in every Existing Form of Government,” and then 
set oft on his walk to the Flemings’ farm. He ought to care for 
lads to whom he had taught their cricket and their catechism, and 
who were much of an age with nimself and Ids' brothers, and often 
thought to resemble them, being equally big, fair, and strong. He 
talked and sympathized till the story of certain wrongs was con- 
fided to him by the younger one— how a certain “ she ” had nearly 
driven him to bad courses, but “ she warn’t worth going to the bad 
for. ’ ’ 

Cherry looked at the lad’s serene and ruddy face, and felt as if he 
might get a lesson. 

Hid all his culture and his principle and refinement only sap his 
powers of endurance? 

“ You’re a brave fellow, Willie,” he said, putting out his hand. 

“ 1 wish — well, don’t let me hear of your getting into trouble, or 
going with those poaching fellows.” 

“ No, sir, not for her, nor for any lass. But— there’s the old 
parson.” 

Cherry got up from the W'all of the field where he had been sil- 
ting, and went to meet him. 

“ Ha, Cherry, my lad, glad to see you out again,” said Parson 
Seyton, coming cheerily over the furrows. “ Good-day t’ye, Wil- 
lie; turnips look well.” 

Y T oung Fleming touched his hat, and after a word or two, Cheri- 
ton asked Mr. Seyton if he were going Oakby way, as they might 
walk together; &id, with a farewell to Fleming, they started down 
the hill. 

“ If I hadn’t found you here, 1 should have been inclined to poach 
on Ellesmere’s manor, and give young Willie a word of advice,” 
said Mr. Se}don. 

“ I know. He has been getting in with the Rydexs and Fowlers, - 
and my father heard. an exaggerated story about him and Ned being 
seen in our copses at night. 1 think that the Flemings are above 
taking to poaching; but Willie has been in a bad way.” 

“Hope your lather’ll catch some of my fellows; do ’em good,” 
said the parson. “ If he caught my nephew Dick, and 'shut him 
up for a bit, the place might be all the better. Hangs about ail day, 
just like his father. He’s after something, and I can’t make out 
what.” • 

“ Sometimes 1 see him about with Bob.” 

“With Bob? Ha! you look about you, Cherry,” said the par- 
son, mysteriously. “ My eyes are sharp. 1 knew when Miss Ruth 
and Captain Rupert; had their little meetings; but then, I knew bet- 
ter than spoil sport.” 

“ You knew more than most,” said Cherry. 

“Ay, and look here, Cherry,” said the parson, stopping and 
looking full at him. “ There’s another thing 1 can see, an d t that is, 
when a man’s in earnest and when he isn’t; and when all’s’smooth 


122 


AH * ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

and sweet to a girl, and when she looks this way and that for some- 
thing that’s wanting.” 

“I have nothing to do with m3 r cousin’s engagement,” said 
Cherry, bewildered. . 

“ Nay — nay, it’s not your cousin. 1 don’t believe in foreigners. 
Cherry; and Master Alvar isn’t what 1 call a lover for a pretty girl 
that worships the grounds he treads on. If he wants her money, 
why, a gentleman should keep up appearances at least.” 

Cheriton looked very much afl rented. 

“ 1 don’t know if you are aware,” he said, “ that my brother’s 
marriage has just been fixed to take place in October; he was at 
Eldertliwaite to day. And for the rest, Alvar is very unselfish, and 
I have taken up a great deal of his time.” 

The parson looked at him with an odd sort of twinkle. “ Ay, 
ay; I know all about that,” he said; “ but we old fellows know 
what we’re about. Well, I turn off here; so good-day to you, and 
mind my words.” 

Cheriton walked on, somewhat ruffled and disturbed. He knew 
the old parson would not have spoken as he had without some 
reason; and it crossed his mind that Bob must be engaged in some 
undesirable amusements with Dick; but if so, what could lie do? 
It was instinctive with Cheriton to try to do something when any 
difficulty was brought before him. Unselfish, loving, and, like all 
influential people, fond of influence, he had surrounded himself by 
calls on his energies and his interest. And now these surroundings 
were all unchanged, while he was changed utterly. The relations 
of son, brother, neighbor, friend, which lie had filled so thoroughly, 
remained; and the feelings due to each seemed to have all died 
away, killed by the blow that had come upon him. He had never 
lived to himseif, nor realized his life apart from the other lives in 
which it was bound up, or from his school, his college, and, most 
of all, his home; and now, with this great loss and pain, he sud- 
denly found that he had a self behind it all— a self, tearfully strong, 
utterly absorbing; all the proportions of life were changed to him. 
Nothing seemed to matter but the chance of restand relief. The 
plans he made had no heart in them; he felt as if the labor neces 
sary for success in life was impossible, the success itself indifferent. 
His tastes were pure; the many temptations of life had been fairly 
met and conquered by him; but each one now seemed to look him 
in the face from a new point of view, and with new force. Soul as 
well as heart is risked in such an injury as Ruth had done him, and 
the more finely balanced perhaps the more easily overthrown. He 
did not cease" to resist; but it was chiefly against the increasing 
weakness and languor which were sure in the eud to prove irresisti- 
ble to him. 

\ . . — 

CHAPTER YI. 

A CRISIS. 

“ I will take a year out of my life and story.” 

One chilly morning, a week or so after these events, Virginia 
was sitting m the drawing-room, with a heap of patterns in her 
lap. She was choosing her wedding-gown, and as she laid the glis- 


AN ENGLISH SQtTlRE. 123 

tening bits of silk and satin on the table before her, she sighed at 
the thought that there was no one to help her, no one to take an in- 
terest in her choice. Kuth was gone, and Virginia missed her sorely, 
Reeling as if the loneliness, the uncongeniality of her home would 
be intolerable but for the thought of the release so soon coming. She 
felt that, though her little efforts -in the village had had some re- 
ward, within doors she had never felt naturalized, never been able 
to produce any impression. Her father never showed her nearly as 
much affection as her uncle did, and she could not know how much 
this was owing to a sense of his own deficiencies toward her. He 
was exceedingly irritable, too, and difficult to deal with, discon- 
tented wholly with life; while Miss Sey ton’s sarcastic tongue al- 
I ways seemed to pierce the weak places in Virginia’s armor, and 
1 when she was inclined to be cheerful, her talk implied such alien 
views of life and duty that she made Virginia wretched. 

Dick had been offered some appointment in London, provided 
that he could pass a decent examination next spring, but his sister 
could not perceive that he made much preparation foi it. She also 
began to suspect that he and Nettie Lester were more together than 
was good, and to wish for an opportunity of hinting as much to 
Cheriton, whom she instinctively felt to be the best depositary of 
such a vague suspicion. 

But Cheriton was much less <vell again; he had been obliged to 
give up going to Paris, and the whole family were suffering anxiety 
on his account, more trying, perhaps, though less openly acknowl- 
edged, than that caused by his actual illness. Virginia was not 
quite the girl to deal successfully with her home troubles. Ruth, 
who did not care a bit whether she could respect her relations or 
not, had made herself more agreeable to them; while Virginia was 
timid and miserable, afraid of being unfilial, and yet perpetually 
conscious of defects. Of course, if she could have felt that Alvar had 
really comprehended her troubles, they would have weighed more 
lightly; but though his tenderness always marie her forget them for 
a lime, she never had the sense of taking counsel with him. 

Now, as she turned over her patterns, her first Thought was which 
he would prefer, and as her aunt came in and with irresistible 
feminine attraction began to examine them, Virginia said— 

“ I shall wait till Alvar comes, and ask him whether he would 
like me to have silk or satin.” 

“ He will tell you that you look enchanting in either, That will 
be a pretty compliment, and save the trouble of a choice.” 

” Oh, no,” said Virginia, “ Alvar has a great deal of taste, and 
he likes some of my dresses much better than others. I wonder if 
Cherry is better to-day.” 

“ Probably, as I see his most devoted brother coming up the gar- 
den.” 

Virginia’s face flushed into ecstasy in a moment. She sprung to 
the garden door, scattering her patterns on the floor w T hile*her aunt 
looked after her, and muttered more softly than usual as she left 
the room, “ Poor little thing!” 

Alvar looked very grav„e as he came toward her, a3 if he hardly 
saw the slender figure in its fluttering delicate dress, or noticed the 
eyes and smiling lips, but, as visual, he smiled when he came up the 


124 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

steps, and seemed to put aside his previous thoughts, and to adopt 
the courteous manner which made Virginia feel herself held at a 
distance. 

* For once, she was more full of her own affairs than of his. 
“ Look,” she said, picking up her silks, “ do you see these? Which 
do you like best?” 

Alvar twisted the patterns over his fingers as he stood in the win- 
dow and did not at once answer. 

“ How is Cherry?” she said. “ Is he better to-day?” 

Perhaps— a little,” said Alvar. ” But the doctors have seen 
hint again, and they say that he must not stay here— that he must 
go abroad for all the winter.” 

“ Do they?” said, Virginia; “ that looks very serious.” 

“ All, yes,” said Alvar a little impatiently, “ but my father— they 
all talk as if it would kill him to go; he will get well away from 
these bitter winds— and— and— and the businesses that are too 
much for him.” 

“ Yes,” said Virginia slowly, perceiving that Alvar- did not quite 
understand how startling a sound being ordered abroad had to En- 
glish ears after such an illness as Cheriton’s. ” What does he say 
himself about it?” 

“ He dreads it very much; but we will go to Seville, and then he 
must find it pleasant.” 

Virginia started; she changed color; and her heart began to beat 
very fast. 

“Mi querida!” said Alvar, taking her hand. “I feel that I — 
affront you— T do not know how to ask you to let me go; but how 
can I send my brother away without me? For his sake I expose 
myself perhaps to blame from your father—” 

“1 don’t quite understand,” said Virginia, withdrawing a little, 
and speaking with unusual clearness. ” Did Cherry ask you to go 
with him?” 

“ Ah, no. He refused and said it must not be. But be told Jack 
that he hated the thought of going to Mentone or any such place 
alone. My father is too unhappy about him to be his companion, 
and Jack must go to Oxford. So, when 1 told him how the wish of 
my heart was to show him my Spanish home, he owned that he 
should like to see it. The climate will not cure him if he is dull 
and miserable.” 

“ Certainly you must go with him,” said Virginia steadily, 
though she felt half suffocated. 

“ Ah, mi reina /” cried Alvar, his brow clearing; “ you see my 
trouble. Without your approval 1 could not go!” 

Virginia turned round and fixed her eyes on Alvar with a look 
never seen befbre under their soft fringes. The sharp agony of per- 
sonal loss and disappointment, the feeling, horrible to the gentle 
modest girl, and the loss and the disappointment reserved all their 
'sting for lier y the outward necessity of the proposal, and the inward 
knowledge that Alvar wronged her by his feeling, though not by 
his act, drove her to bay at last. Bhe would have shared in any sac- 
rifice, but she instinctively knew that Altf&r was making none. The 
vague dissatisfactions, the dim misunderstandings, the unacknowl- 
edge jealousies of many months, all rushed at once into the light, 


125 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

Her love was too passionate to be patient, and ber self-control broke 
down at last. 

“ Yes,” she said, “ of course you must go with your brother. 1 
see that. 1 admit it quite. But — Alvar — that’s not all. 1 have 
seen for a long time that our engagement was a tie to you — it was 
a mistake. I don’t blame you--yofi did not understand— but it is 
better to end it. 1 release you — you are free!” 

“ Sehorita /” cried Alvar, flashing up, “ 1 have given.no one the 
right to doubt my honor. You mistake me.” | 

“No,” said Virginia, “ 1 dornot mistake. 1 know— I know you 
mean rightly— 1 ought not to Wonder if you don’t— if you don’t — ”j 
she broke off faltering and trembling, humiliated by the sense that 
she had not been able to win him. 

But Alvar’s pride had taken fire. “1 am at your service,” he 
said proudly, “ since you mistake my request.” 

“ 1 will not hold you back one day,” she answered. “ Nor do 1 
blame you. Don’t mistake me . You have done all for me that you 
could; but our ideas are different, and 1 feel convinced we should 
only go on making each other unhappy. It is better to part.” 

“ Since it is your wish to have it so,” said Alvar in a tone of deep 
offense; but with a curious pang at his heart. “ 1 was your true 
lover, and I would never have caused you grief. But since 1 did 
not satisfy you, 1 withdraw. 1 force myself on no lady.” 

“ Indeed— indeed,” faltered Virginia, “ 1 do not blame you: it is 
perhaps my fault, that— that we have so often mistaken each 
other. ’ ’ 

“ It is that to you— as to my father 1 am a stranger,” said Alvar. 
“ 1 will go— it is as yon wish.” 

He took up his hat, paused, made her a formal bow, and went 
out. Virginia sprung after him; but he did not look back. She 
felt lierseff cruel, exacting, selfish, and yet she A 'neio that her causes 
of complaint were just. She had sent him away from her, and she 
would never see him again. As he passed out of sight, she ran 
down the steps, whether alter him or away from the house, she 
hardly knew. The trailing overgrown roses caught in her dress and 
held her back. She turned, and all the desolation of the untrimmed 
garden and unpainted house seemed to overwhelm her spirit. The 
wind came up in long dismal rustles, the sky was gray and colcT 
As she paused, she saw her aunt’s still graceful figure in its shabby- 
dress cross the lawn, her face with its fair outline and hard, bitter 
look turned toward her. * . ^ 

“ She lost her lover!” thought Virginia, and her own future 
flashed upon her like a dreadful vision. She turned and fled up to 
her own room, where every other thought was destroyed bydlie 
sense of loss and misery. It w T as in the middle of the afternoon that 
she was startled'out of her. trance of wretchedness by a call in h'er 
aunt’s voice. “ Virginia, Virginia! Come here, 1 want you par- 
ticularly.” 

Virginia obeyed passively. She might as well tell her aunt of the 
morning’s interview then as put it of£ longer. As she came into 
the drawing-room, Miss Seyton left it by another door, and she 
found herself alone with Cheriton Tester. 


126 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ Thank you for coming down,” he said, eagerly. “ I want to 
explain; 1 think there has been a great mistake.” 

“ No, 1 think not,” said Virginia, ratherJAintly. 

“ But let me tell you. It is all my fault indeed. Alvar must not 
be punished for my selfishness. Y ou know, I got a fresh cold some- 
how, and my cough was bad again, so my father was frightened 
and sent for the doctors, and they ordered me away for the winter. 
1 must not go to London now, they say — ” 

“ Indeed, Cherry, 1 am very sorry,” faltered Virginia, as the cough 
stopped him. 

No, but let me tell you. This was a great shock to me. 1 want 
to get to work — and then — my poor father ! It seemed to knock me 
down altogether, and foolishly, 1 let Jack see it, and said that 1 
hated the notion of any of those regular invalid places, and that go- 
ing there would do me no good. And then Alvar came and asked 
me if 1 should not like to see his friends and Seville, and I said, 

‘ Y 7 es, if I must go anywhere,’ and he tried in his kind way to make 
the idea seem pleasant to me, and my father caught at it because he 
thought 1 might like it. 1 shall never forgive myself for making, 
such a fuss! But of course to-day— now 1 am in my right senses— 
1 should not think of such a thing. If Alvar goes with me, even 
to Seville and stays for a few weeks, then, if 1 am better, he can 
come home, and I shall not mind staying there alone, and at Christ- 
mas Jack might come to me, or my father— it can easily be man- 
aged. In short. Virginia,” he added, with an attempt at his usual 
playfulness, “ 1 want you to understand that I made a complete 
fool of myself yesterday, and that’s the whole of it.” 

“ Did Alvar ask you to come and tell me this?’.’ 

“No,” said Clieriton, “ he was hurt by your misunderstanding 
him, he does not know 1 am here. Jack drove me over. Butl 
shall not agree to any other ariangement than what I have told you, 
unless,” he added slowly, “things should go badly, and then 1 
know you would have patience.” 

“ Oh, Cherry,” said Virginia, struggling with her tears, “ I hope 
you don’t think me so selfish as to wish to prevent Alvar from go- 
ing with you. It is not that.” 

“ But what is it, then? Can you tell me?” said Cherry gently, 
and sitting down by her side. 

“I have no one to ask,” she said; “but you will think me 
wrong, and yet — ” 

“ 1 know too well how difficult it is to be right in matters of feel- 
.ing, if you once begin to analyze them.” said Cherry sadly. 

The gentleness of his voice and the kind look of his eyes gave her 
courage, and she said, very low — 

“ 1 think 1 should not make Alvar happy, because he does not 
care for me. Please understand that he has done all he could; he 
is very kind to me, but he does not care for me.” 

“You know, Virginia,” said Cherry eagerly, “ Alvar has differ- 
ent ways from ours. Indeed, he is loving—” 

“He loves, you," said Virginia quickly; then, blushing scarlet, 
she added,' “ Oh, Cherry, 1 think it is beautiful the way he is grate- 
ful to you, and thinks so much of you. Please, please, don’t think 
1 would have it otherwise, ” 


127 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ 1 have far more cause to he grateful to him.” 

“ Yes! 1 like to think that. "But, Cherry, when you were ill, he 
didn’t cafe for me to comfort him, it was no rest fo him to come 
and see me. He never tells me his troubles It isn’t as Ruth and 
Rupert love each other. If 1 say anything, he turns it aside. It 
will not make him unhappy to give me up.” 

“ It made him exceedingly angry,” said Cheriton, too clear-sighted 
not to acquiesce in the truth of Virginia’s words, though he was un- 
willing to own as much. 

“ 1 don’t think,” said Virginia, “ that 1 should bear that feeling 
patiently. Things are very miserable any way, but 1 think Alvar 
will be happier without me. It has not turned out well.” 

[She spoke in a low tone of complete depression, evidently utter- 
ing convictions that had been long formed, gently and humbly, but 
with an undercurrent of firmness. 

“I will tell Alvar what you say,” he said. “ 1 quite see what 
you mean, but perhaps he will be able to show you that you have 
misinterpreted him.” 

” No,” said Virginia, with decision, “ do not let him try.” 

As she spoke, there was a tap at the door, and Jack opened it. 

“ Cherry,” he said, “ it is so late; are you ready?” 

“ One minute, Jack,” said Cheriton, “ I am coming. Virginia,” 
he added, taking her hands in his with sudden earnestness, Alvar 
will love you enough some day. I am sure of it.” 

Cheriton hardly knew what put the words into his mouth ; but 
they chimed in Virginia’s heart for many a weary day, lighted up 
by the bright, brave smile which had accompanied them. 


CHAPTER Vll. 

* FAREWELL. 

u O near ones, dear ones! you in whose right hands 
. Our own rests calm, whose faithful hearts all day, 

Wide open, wait till back from distant lands 
Thought, the tired traveler, wends his homeward way .' 1 

“ Of course, since Miss Seyton insists, and you sky you wish it, 
1 come home for my marriage in October,” said Alvar. 

“ You don’t understand,” replied Cheriton vehemently, “ and you 
are unfair to Virginia. She is as kind as she can be. Go and show 
her tnat you really care for her as she deserves, and it will all come 
right. If anything could make matters worse for me, it would be 
to think I had been the excuse for a break between you!” 

Alvar was standing in the library window, leaning back against 
the shutter. He looked perfectly unmoved and impervious to argu- 
ment, his mouth shut firm and his eyebrows a little contracted. 
Cheriton, on the other hand, half lying on the window-seat, was 
hashed and eager as if he had been pleading for himself, not for 
another. 

“ No,” said Alvar obstinately. “ Miss Seyton has dismissed me. 
She tells me that 1 do not content her. •'Well, then, 1 will go.” 

” Why make yourself wretched for a mere misunderstanding?” 


128 A$T ENGLISH SQU-IRE. 

“1? I shall not be wretched. I hope I can take my dismissal 
from a lady. She finds that 1 do not suit her, so 1 withdraw/’ said 
Alvar in a tone of indescribable haughtiness. 

“ Perhaps she knows best,” said Cherry, “ and is right in think- 
ing you indifferent to her.” 

“ iNo— but I will be so soon,” said Alvar coolly. 

41 It is no good to say so,” said Cherry; then, starting up, he 
cauie and put his hand on Alvar’s aim. “ Don’t do this thing,” he 
said imploringly, “ you don’t know what it will cost you.” 

The two faces clear against the sky were a contrast for a painter; 
Alvar’s with its rich dark coloring, ilie calm impassive look just a 
little sullen, and Cheriton’s. delicate, sharpened outlines, the eyes 
all on fire and the color varying with excitement. 

Perhaps the two natures sympathized as little as the faces. Al- 
var’s look softened, however, as he put Cherry back on the cushions. 

“ Lie still,” he said; “ why do you care so much? You will be 
as ill as you were yesterday. If I had known it, yon should not 
have gone to Elderthwaite.” 

“But,” said Cherry, more quietly, “1 felt sure that there had 
been a misunderstanding. It was my fault. Of course 1 like best 
to have you with me; but 1 could not consent to any indefinite 
putting off of your marriage. My father w'oiild not agree, to it 
either. And that is not quite the point. Show Virginia that she is 
your first thought, and everything can be put right.” 

Alvar stood silent for a minute, then said suddenly and emphat- 
ically — 

“No. I have not the honor of pleasing her as 1 am. I can 
change for no one. Do not grieve, Cherito mio, 1 shall forgdt all 
when 1 show you Seville, and 1 will teach you to forget too. I take 
the best of my English home with me when I take my brother.” 

lie took Cheri ton’s hands in his as he spoke, with a gesture, half 
playful, half tender. The response was cruelly disappointing. 
Cheiry withdrew a little and said, in a tone of extreme coldness — 

“ In that case Virginia is .perfectly right. 1 quite understand her 
meaning. But it will be a great vexation to my father that your 
engagement should be broken for such a cause.” 

“ My father can not complain. I have obeyed him,” said Alvar. 
“ But I shall go and tell him that the proposals he so honorably 
made me will be unnecessary;” 

He w'ent away as he spoke, and Jack, who had been listening 
silently, exclaimed— 

“ By Jove! he doesn’t know what he’s in for now!” 

“ Oh,” cried Cherry, “ it is intolerable! If they had married, 
she would never have found out his coolness! It is most unlucky.” 

“Well,” said Jack, “I don’t know. Alvar worships you, aud 
has ways that suit you, yet you can’t understand each other. Alvar 
is altogether different from us. He is outside out planetary system, 
and always will be. I’d like my wife to belong to the same species 
as myself.” 

“ But the occasion is so annoying,” said Cherry. ** Why must 
they order me off in this way — or why couldn’t I lia^e held my 
tongue about it? Oh, Alvar is the wise man after all, ” 

“ You’ll get well,” said Jack gruffly, 


129 


, AK ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ Well, I’ll try. But— ” be paused; but the thought in his mind 
was that the home ties had regained their power now that he be- 
lieved himself likely to leave them forever. 

“ Cherry,” said lack, turning his back, aud hunting in a book- 
shelf, “ 1 know all about it.” 

“ Do you, Jack?” 

“Yes. You ought to go away; but do you mind going alone 
with Alvar? Let me come.” 

“ Well, Jack,” said Cheriton, after a pause, “ if you know, 1 can 
tell you how it is. I’ve had a hard time, and I think 1 should like 
to be quiet. But il is right to give one’s self a chance, and as for 
Alvar, 1 am not at all afraid of going alone with him. You know 
what a good nurse he is. If I want you, you will come to me.” 

“Yes,” muttered Jack. 

“ But I don’t want father to guess at what the doctors call 
‘ mental anxiety,’ nor to talk hopelessly to him. You must com- 
fort him. I’m afraid a great deal will be thrown on you, my boy.” 

Jack did not answer: and Cheriton, divining his feelings, made 
an effort, and said cheerfully— 

“ Of course, one is no judge of one’s self in such cases. 1 am quite 
willing to go now, and 1 shall look forward to seeing you at Christ- 
mas. You must write and give me your impressions of Oxford.” 

“Oh, yes,” said Jack, consoled: “and perhaps Alvar will pick 
up a Spanish lady, and then we should be all right again.” 

Cherry smiled and shook his head, feeling that he could not wish 
to dispose of Alvar in so unceremonious a fashion. He was angry 
with him now, and felt how wide a gulf lay between their points 
of view; yet he had grown to be very dependent on him, and was 
keenly conscious of all his unselfish devotion. He saw, too, that it 
would not do to talk freely even to Jack, since it frightened him 
and made him miserable, and resolved to keep all his confusing 
feelings to himself— feelings that seemed to tear him to pieces while 
he was utterly weary of them all. 

He was afraid that he had been hard on Alvar, and still more 
afraid of how his father would take the revelation; but he had not 
long to wait before the study door was flung open, and Alvar 
walked in, withers head up, and his face crimson. He was pass- 
ing through without heeding his brothers, but Cherry’s call checked 
him, and he came up to the window. 

“ Mi querido, this will do you harm,” he said gently; “ you ex- 
cite yourself too much.” 

“ But tell me — ” 

“ Yes, I will tell you. But we will go upstairs; you must rest.” 

But as he spoke his lather came out of the study, and coming up 
to them, said, in a tone of strong indignation — 

“ 1 wish to know, Cheriton, how long you have been aware of a 
state of feeling on your brother’s part which places me in a situa- 
tion of which I am thoroughly ashamed: whether you were aware 
that, as appears from his own confession, my son lias done Miss 
Seyton 11i« disrespect of engaging himself to her as a matter of ex- 
pediency, and net of affection.” 

“ Sir,” said Alvar firmly, “ your displeasure is tor me alone. 1 


1 3Q AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

will not allow my brother to be questioned; he is not strong enough 
to bear it. ’ ’ 

“No, Alvar, it won’t hurt me. Father, 1 don’t think you un- 
derstand. If they find that they can not satisfy each other it is better 
to part. Neither would act dishonorably by the other.” 

“ There is no use in talking,” said Alvar hotly. “ At my father’s 
wish 1 gave myself to Miss Seyton as I am. Well, she rejects me; 
there is an end of it. 1 can change for no one. 1 am myself. 
Well, I do not please any of you, but 1 do not ask you to change 
yourselves, nor will 1.” 

His words sounded like a mere defiance to his father, but as 
Cheriton heard them, he felt their force. Why should they all ex- 
pect Alvar to conform to their standard instead of trying to under- 
stand his ? 

“ Be that as it may,” said Mr. Lester, “ you have found an un- 
worthy pretext. I am far from ungrateful for all your kindness to 
Cheriton, but it was fair on none of us to take the opportunity of 
his going abroad to put off your marriage. If you had had tlie 
manliness to say at once that your engagement was distasteful to 
you, we should have known how to. act.” 

“1 will not stay— 1 will not hear myself so insulted!” cried 
Alvar, with a sudden fury of passion, that flared high above his 
father’s angry displeasure, startling both the brothers into an at- 
tempt to interfere. 

Father is mistaken,” cried Jack; while Cheriton began to sa.y. — 

“ Come into the study, father; 1 think I can explain — ” when his 
words were stopped by a violent fit of coughing. Agitated and over- 
fatigued as he was he could not check it, and the alarm was more 
effectual than any explanations could have been in silencing the 
quarrel. 

Alvar sprung to his side in a moment, and sent Jack tor remedies; 
while Mr. Lester forgot everything but the one great anxiety and 
distress. The doctors had given a sti ong enough warning against 
the possible consequences of such excitement to make them ail feel 
self-reproachful at having caused it; and the next words exchanged 
between the disputants were an entreaty from Mr. Lester to know 
if Alvar was alarmed, a gentle reassurance on^Alvar’s part, and a 
request, at once complied with, that his father ^ould move out of 
sight, lest Cherry should attempt to renew the discussion. 

It never was renewed. When Cherry recovered he was. too much 
exhausted to try to speak or to think of Alvar in any light but of 
the one who knew best what was comfortable to him, and once 
more everything seemed indifferent to Mr. Lester beside the ap- 
proaching parting. But though a quarrel was averted, there was 
much discomfort. Mrs. Lester took her son’s view decidedly, and 
treated Alvar like a culprit, the only voice raised iq, his favor being 
Bob’s, who observed unexpectedly “ that he thought Alvar was 
quite right to do as he chose.” Mr. Lester had an interview with 
Mr. Seyton, and probably made more than the amende expected 
from him, for the next day he received a note from Virginia: — 

“ Dear Mr. Lester,— A s 1 find from my father that you do 
not entirely understand the circumstances which have led to the 


131 


AN ENGLISH SQUIKE. 

breach ot my engagement, I think it is due to your son to tell you 
that it was entirely my own doing, and that I have no cause of 
complaint against him. We parted, because 1 believe we are un ; 
suited to each other, not because he in any way displeased me; cer- 
tainly not because he very rightly wished to go abroad with Cheri- 
ton. I hope you will forgive me for saying this, and believe me, 

“ Yours very sincerely, 

“Virginia Seyton.” 

• 

Well meant as poor Virginia’s letter was, it may be doubted 
whether it much enlightened Mr. Lester as to the point in question; 
but he showed it to Alvar, who read it with a deep blush, and 
said — 

“ She is, as ever, generous — but— 1 am a stranger to her still. 

Meanwnile, all the arrangements for the journey were being 
made. Cheriton received a warm invitation from Seville, and it 
was agreed, at his earnest request, that his father should remain 
behind at Oakby, but that Jack should go with him to Southamp- 
ton, whence they were to go to Gibraltar by P. and O. steamer, the 
easiest way, it was thought, of making tiie journey. In London 
Cheriton w as to see a celebrated physician. 

He went bravely and considerately through all the trying leave- 
takings and arrangements; taxing his strength to the uttermost, in 
the desire to leave nothing undone for any one. He put aside, with 
a strong hand, that inner self which yet he could not conquer, with 
its passionate yearning, its bitter disappointment, its abiding sense 
of wrong; but it was there still, and gave at times the strangest sense 
of unreality, even to the pain of the partings, which was true pain 
nevertheless, though he seemed to feel it through the others, rather 
than through himself. Perhaps the vehement Lester temperament 
was not a very sanguine one, for though they were told to be hopeful, 
they were all full of fear, and Cheriton himself hardly looked for- 
ward to a return, or, indeed, to anything but possible rest from the 
strain of making the best of himself, for he suffered very much, 
while all the vivid and appropriate sensations with which he had 
once looked out on life and death had died away. 

He could hardly have borne it all but for Alvar’s constant care 
and watchfulness, and for the ease given by his apparent absence 
of feeling, and for the soothing of his tender gentle ways; and yet 
though he clung to him with ever increasing gratitude and affec- 
tion, there was a curious sense of being apart from him. 

Alvar, though lie had too mucJi tact to fret Cherry by opposition, 
had no sympathy with the innumerable interests, for each one of 
which he wished to provide, and thought his parting interviews 
with the young Flemings and with many another waste of strength 
and spirits. Cherry had also to go through a trying conversation 
with old Parson Seyton, wiio, betvreen anger on Virginia’s account 
and grief on Clieriton’s, w r as difficult to deal with, entirely refusing 
to see Alvar, and more than disi osed to quarrel with Cherry for 
going abroad with him. Even Mr. Ellesmere regarded Alvar’s 
conduct with considerable disapproval, though he would not mar 
his relations with Cherry by a word. 

Alvar said nothing and made no explanations, but he was ex- 


132 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

ceedingly impatient ot the strain on Cherry’s lurtitude and cheer- 
fulness, not seeing what the memory ot this sad time might one day 
be*to them all, and least of all appreciating the value of that last 
Sunday’s church-going and Communion, which, much as it tried 
both their feelings and their shy reserve, not one of the others, even 
Bob, would for worlds have omitted. Yet, when many an old 
servant and neighbor made a point that day of following the ex- 
ample of the squire and his children, Mr. Ellesmere thought the 
scene no small testimony to thfc value of the lives, which, however 
faulty and imperfect, had been led, though at different levels, with 
a constant sense of responsibility toward man and of looking 
upward to God. Yes, and as something to give thanks for, even 
while his heart swelled at the thought that the best loved of those 
tall fair-faced youths might never kneel in Oakby church again. 

That same Sunday evening Mr. Lester was sitting alone in the 
library in the dusk, sad enough at. heart, when Cherry came slowly 
in behind him, and leaned over the back of his chair. 

“ Father,” he said, “ I’ve been thinking, and I want to tell you 
something before I go.” 

“ What is it, my boy?— don’t stand— here, sit here.” 

He pulled another chair toward his own as he spoke, and Cherry 
sat down, and said — 

“ Father, I think 1 had rather you knew as much as I ought to 
tell you; 1 don’t want to have any secret between us.” 

“ Well, my boy?” 

“ And, besides, 1 heard you say that, if you could have found any 
reason for my being worse, you would be less auxious about me. 
Well, it is not a reason exactly, but 1 suppose if made me careless. 
1 — I’ve had a great trouble lately— a — a disappointment. It’s over 
now— but it cost me a good deal at the time. 1 can’t tell you any 
more about it, but 1 thought— after all — 1 had rather you knew — 
now /” 

Mr. Lester did not ask a single question. 

“ 1 never guessed this,” he said, in-a tone of surprise; then, after 
a pause, “ Well, my dear boy, it’s a great relief to my mind.” 

Cherry nearly laughed, though his heart was full enough. 

“ You need never imagine that it will turn up again,” he said, 
decidedly. 

“Ah, well, Cherry, we’ve all had disappointments,” said Mr. 
Lester, more cheerfully than he had spoken for some time; “and 
I’m glad there’s something to account for your looks lately. You 
weren’t strong enough for vexations. You’ll shake them off with 
the change of sc^ne. But, my lad, don’t go and make a fool of 
yourself in the reaction.” 

Cherry was sufficiently acquainted with his father’s history to 
guess at the drift of this warning; but he only shook his head and 
smiled, and Then there was a long silence. Cherry leaned against 
the aim of his father’s chair, and, after a long-forgotten childish 
fashion, began to finger the seals on his watch-chain. . 

“ These are the first things 1 remember,” he said. 

Mr. Lester passed his arm round him, as when he had been a 
slim boy, standing by his side; and though no other word was spok- 
en, and in the darkness there were tears on both their faces* Cherry 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 133 

felt that after such a drawing together, this worst of all the partings 
was easier to bear. 

— o 

PART 1IL 

SEVILLE. 

“ Wo die Cifronen bluhn.” 

CHAPTER 1. 

FIGHTING THE DRAGON. 

w Does the road wind uphill all the way? 

Yes, to the very end.” 

“ So, papa, here we are, off at last! 1 can hardly believe it, and 
nothing left behind! Isn’t it delightful? Such lovely weather and 
so many people! I wish we were going to India right away! 1 
wonder how many of those people are good sailors.” 

“ A very small proportion, my dear, in all probability. n 

“ How I do like to Iook at people and imagiue-histories for them! 
And you can not start for India without a sort of story; can you? 
As for you and me, we’re just going to enjoy ourselves!” 

The speaker looked capable of enjoying herself and all around 
her. She was a girl of eighteen or nineteen, dressed in a tightly- 
fitting dark blue dress with a little black felt hat, very becoming 
to her small, slender shape, and dark glowing complexion. She 
had pretty features and very white teeth, which showed a little in 
her frequent smiles; dark hazel eyes, bright, clear, and penetrat- 
ing; and curly wavy hair, as black as an English girl’s can be. 
She had quick, decided movements, a clear, firm voice, and the 
sweetest laugh possible. 

Among all the anxious, hurried fidgety people on the deck she 
looked perfectly happy and at her ease— not careless, for a variety 
of small packages were neatly piled up beside her, but entirely con- 
tent; for was not the desire of h^r heart in process of fulfillment? 
Ever since Elizabeth Stanforth, always appropriately called Gipsy, 
had been a little girl, she had delighted in sharing her father’s ex- 
peditions when the great London aitist sought new ideas, new 
models, or a cessation from ideas and models, in the enjoyment of. 
natural beauty. These expeditions had not hitherto been long or 
frequent, for Gipsy was the eldest of seven, and holiday trips away 
from the old house at Kensington were generally made in company 
with her mother and the children, with occasional divergencies of 
Mr. Stanforth’s. Gipsy, too, was but newly released "from the 
thralldom of lessons and classes, though a week once at the Lakes, 
and another in Cornwall, had show T n Mr. Stanforth that she pos- 
sessed various requisites for a good traveler — a great capacity for 
enjoyment and a great ^?^-capacity for being bored, good health, a 
good appetite, and a good temper. 

Therefore, when a long* cherished wish of Mr. StanfortL’s owp 


134 


a:n English squire. 

was put in practice, and he set out for a three months' tour in search 
of the picturesque in Southern Spain, he took Gipsy with him, and 
this warm, sunshiny September morning found them on the deck 
of a P. and O. steamer, just about to leave Southampton on its way 
to Gibraltar. 

They had arrived on board early, and were now watching the 
approach ot their fellow-passengers, the farewells and last words 
passing between them and their friends: Gipsy simply delighted 
with the novelty ot the scene, and her father watching it with a 
peculiarly acute and kindly gaze of accurate observation. 

Mr. Stanforth, with his slender figure and dark beard, looked 
young enough to be sometimns mistaken for his daughter’s elder 
brother; she resembled him in coloring and feature, but keen and 
sweet as her bright eyes were, they had not looked out long enough 
on life to have acquired the thoughtful sympathetic expression that 
gave to her falhei’s face an unusual charm— a look that seemed to 
tell of an insiglfi that reached beyond the artist’s observation of form 
and color, or even of obvious character, and penetrated the very 
thoughts of the heart, not merely to note but to understand them. 
Perhaps this was why Mr. Stanforth’s portraits were thought such 
good likenesses, and why his original designs never wanted for char- 
acter and expression. 

He was not thinking purposely of anything but his holiday and 
his daughter, but the blue sky and bright sunshine of this unusually 
summer-like September helped his sense of enjoyment, and every 
face as it passed before him interested or amused him, from the 
bright, fresh-faced school-girl just “ finished,” and looking forward 
through a few parting tears to incalculable possibilities in her un- 
known life, to the climate- worn official who had been bored during 
his leave at home, yet was far from regarding India as a paradise. 
Brides blushing and smiling, mothers with eyes and hearts sad for 
the children left at home, young lads with the world before them— 
the deck offered specimens ot all these. Some were surrounded by 
groups of friends, but most of the sadder partings had been got over 
elsewhere, and the passengers were coming on board with a sense 
of relief, and minds cliietiy full of their luggarre and their state- 
rooms, their places at the table, and their chairs for the deck. 

A.s Mr. Stanforth’s eye traveled over the various groups he ob-, 
served two young men sitting close together on one of the benches 
at a little distance. The one nearest to him sat with his face 
turned away toward his companion, a tali, powerful lad, with fair 
hair, and features of an unusually 'fine and regular type, now pale 
and half sullen with a pain evidently almost beyond endurance. 
The other’s hand lay on his knee, and he seemed to be speaking, 
for the boy nodded and murmured a word or two occasionally. 
‘‘That’s a bad parting,” thought the aitist; “1 wonder which is 
the traveler.” 

“ Look, papa,” said Gipsy, “ there’s a model for you! Isn’t that 
an uncommon face?” She pointed out to him a tall, dark young 
man, with a peculiar oval face of olive tinting, who stood close to 
them making inquiries of some officials. “ There’s a distinguished 
foreigner for you,” she said. 

“ Yes, a foreigner of course; a very fine fellow.” 


135 


Aft - ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

Something restrained the kindly-natured artist from drawing his 
daughter's attention to the parting moments that were evidently so 
painful; but the “ distinguished foreigner/’ as the last minutes ap- 
proached, drew near to the pair and touched the lad on the shoul- 
der. He started up; the other rose also and turned round, showing 
a face like enough in type to suggest the closest kinship, but white, 
thin, telling: a tale of sickness as well as of present suffering. They 
grasped each other’s hands, Mr. Stanforth involuntarily turned his 
eyes away, and in a moment the lad pushed through the crowd, evi- 
dently unseeing and unheeding, passed close by them and knocked 
over all Gipsy’s bags, shawls, and bundles, pushed on, never know- 
ing what he had done, and turning, gave one last look at his brother, 
who met it with a beaming, resolute smile, and a wave of the hand. 

The olive-faced foreigner who had followed, saw the accident, 
and made a gesture of apology, then bid tbe boy farewell with 
clasped hands and some rapidly-uttered sentences, watching him 
over the side, and, coming back to the Stanforths, hastily replaced 
the fallen articles. 

“ Pardon,” he said, “ my brother could not see.” 

“Don’t mention it;, no harm done,” said Mr. Stanforth kindly, 
as the young man moved aw T ay; other groups came up and separated 
them, and he was seen no more till dinner-time, when he appeared, 
but without his companion. 

In the intervals of making acquaintance with her fellow-passen- 
gers and of beginning the letter which was to tell her mother of 
every event of their tour, Gipsy Stanforth speculated as to how the 
“ distinguished foreigner” came to call such an unmistakable En- 
glishman his brother. 

The three days that the Lesters had spent in London had been 
trying and fatiguing. Judge Cheriton and his wife had come up 
fiorn the country to their town house on purpose to receive them, 
but the very kindness and interest which had prompted them to in- 
quire into all the causes of Clieriton’s illness, and to question the 
prudence of some of the home measures, had fretted both Cheriton 
and Jack, the latter being a little disposed to resent any interfer- 
ence. But the right of the Cheritons to a share in their nephews’ 
affairs had always been admitted, and Mr. Lester, little ai he felt 
himself able to bear the further strain, would hardly have let them 
go to London without him, but for his brother-in-law’s assurance 
that they should not start till every arrangement had been made. 
The judge was surprised at the confidence reposed in Alvar, and 
though he had too much sense to try to shake it, had caused Mr. 
Lester to insist that they should be accompanied by a servant ex- 
perienced in traveling and in illness, instead of the Oak by lad at 
first chosen — an arrangement which Cheriton secretly much disliked, 
Ihougli he acquiesced in it as sparing his father anxiety. 

Judge Cheriton also undeitook to give Mr. Lester a full report of 
the physician’s opinion, which was not, on tbe whole, discouraging. 
He said that though the illness had left manifest traces, and that he 
considered Cheriton in a critical state, there was nothing to prevent 
entire recovery, of which the winter abroad offered the best chance; 
and if he wished to go to Southern Spain, Spain it might be, as rest 
and change were as much needed as climate. There was no use 


136 AH EHGLISH SQUIRE. 

in thinking of any profession or occupation till the next summer. 
Some overstrain had resulted in a complete break-down, and the 
cough was part of the mischief. Fatigue, cold; and anxiety were 
all equally to be avoided, but as there was no predisposition to any 
form of chest disease in the family, they might look forward hope- 
fully. 

This verdict entirely consoled Alvar, who, indeed, had never 
looked much beyond the present, and brightened the anxious hearts 
of Oakby, especially when accompanied by a note from Cherry him- 
self, which he had made Jack read to “see if it was cheerful 
enough.” 

He and Jack clung to each other closely during those last few 
days, and till they parted, Cheriton never ceased to be the one to 
uphold and to cheer; but when Jack was out of sight, he broke 
down utterly, and while Alvar w r as beginning to make acquaintance 
with the Stanforths, Cheriton lay fighting hard with all the suffer- 
ing which he had so long held at bay. He was not passive, though 
Alvar thought him so, as he lay still and silent, unwilling to speak 
or be spoken to. He was struggling actively, strenuously, with all 
the force of a strong will against a passionate and rebellious nature. 
He was sufficiently experienced in self-control, and unselfish enough 
to have succeeded in behaving w T ell and courageously under his 
various troubles. But Cherry’s notions of self-conquest aimed higher 
and went deeper. He would be master of his own inmost soul, as 
well as ol his outward actions. His eyes were pure enough to see 
as in a vision what was implied in saying honestly, “ Thy will be 
done,” and clear enough to know that he could not sgy it; while, 
on the other hand, there was scarcely any form of wrath and bitter- 
ness to which memory did not tempt him. Why must he suffer in 
so many ways? Perhaps the moments of softer yearning for the 
lost love of hiis boyhood, sad as they were, were the least painful 
part of his Buffering. The loss of health and strength, and of the 
power of substituting some other aim in life for those earlier and 
sweeter hopes, came as a separate, but to so active a person, an ex- 
ceeding trial, while he was separated from all the lesser interests 
which had the power of custom over him, a power in his case un- 
usually strong; yet in these he felt lay the hope of salvation, at 
least from those intermittent waves of utter despondency wdiich 
made all alike worthless and blank. Cheriton had all his life tried 
to choose the better part, to follow his own higher nature, and seek 
what was lovely and of good report; had all his life looked up- 
ward. Had he not done so, these present temptations would have 
attacked him on a far lower level, or, set apart as he was just now 
from all outward action, he w T ould more probably not have recog- 
nized that he had a battle to fight at all. But to Cheriton it was 
given to see the issues of the battle that has been fought by all true 
saints, and perhaps by some sinners; and his chief mistake now T 
was that he was young enough to think that, like the typical dragon 
fights of the old world, it could be won by one great struggle. This 
was his inner life, of which no one knew anything, save perhaps 
Jack, who was like-minded enough to guess something of it. 

Alvar only saw that he was weak and weary and suffering from a 
great reaction of mind and body, fie was a very judicious com- 


137 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

panion, however, and after a day or two of repose succeeded in coax- 
ing Cherry on to the deck; where the fresh air sent him to sleep on 
the cushions that Alvar had arranged for him, more quietly than 
for some time past. 

When he opened his eyes, and began to look about him, it was 
with a refreshing sense of life and circumstances apart from himself 
and his perplexities. The blue sky, the dancing waves, the groups 
of people moving about, the unfamiliar sights and sounds amused 
him. He looked round for his brother, and presently discovered him 
sitting at a little distance, smoking his unfailing cigarette, and look- 
ing both comfortable and picturesque in the soft felt hat, which, 
though not especially unlike other people’s, always had on him the 
effect of a costume. He was talking to a young lady, with an air 
of consiaei able animation and intimacy, She was knitting a gay- 
striped sock, the bright pins twinkling with the rapid movement of 
her fingers, aud she laughed often, a particularly gay, musical laugh. 

Alvar glanced round, and seeing that Cherry was awake, sprung 
up and came over lo him. 

“ Ah, you have had quite a long sleep,” he said. 

“ Have 1? 1 feel all the better for it. This is very comfortable. 
And pray who is the young lady with the knitting-needles?” 

“ Why, that is Miss Stanforth. Did 1 not tell you how kind they 
have been? You see, Jack nearly knocked her down, and so we 
made acquaintance; and just now 1 w T as teaching her some Spanish.” 

“ Did Jack create a favorable impression by that mode of intro- 
duction?” 

“Why, yes,” said Alvar, delighted at hearing the shadow of a 
joke from Cherry; “for 1 explained how it was that he was in 
trouble, and they were interested at hearing of you. Now you must 
have some breakfast, and then perhaps you would like to see them.” 

“Oh, no,” said Cherry, “1 don’t feel up to talking; but 1 am 
glad you have some one to amuse you.” 

However, Cherry began to be amused himself by watcbihg his 
brother. He felt the relief of having nothing to do and no one to 
think of, and as he lay looking on, was surprised at perceiving how 
sociable the stiff, reserved Alvar appealed to be, how many little 
politenesses he performed, and how gay and light-hearted he looked. 
Evidently Mr. aud Miss Stanforth were the most attractive party, 
though Alvar seemed on speaking terms with everyone; and at last 
Cherry, seeing that lie wished it, begged that Mr. Stanforth would 
come and speak to him, and their new acquaintance, having the tact 
to see that he was shy in his character of invalid, came and sat down 
beside him, and talked cheerfully on indifferent topics. 

“ And where are you bound for,” he asked presently, “ when yo’. 
reach Gibraltar?” 

V For Seville,” said Cheriton; “Don Guzman de la Rosa, my 
brother’s grandfather, lives there at this time of the year. He has 
a country place, too, 1 believe for the summer. But Alvar thinks 
the journey would be too much for me yet. 1 hope not; he must 
want to be with his friends,” 

“ My daughter and 1,” said Mr. Stanforth, “ have some friends 
at Gibraltar, and they have recommended us to join them at a place 
on the coast, San Jose, I think they called it. Afterward our dream 


138 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

lias been to spend some weeks at Seville. Can you tell us anything 
of ways and means there, for we are trusting entirely to fate and a 
guide-book?” 

“ I’m afraid,” said Cherry, smiling, “that lam trusting with 
equally implicit faith in Alvar. 1 haven’t asked many questions. 
Alvar, can you tell Mr. Stanforth what he must do, and how he 
must manage in Seville?” 

“All I know is at his service,” said Alvar, sitting down at 
Cherry’s feet; “ but he will, 1 hope, visit my grandfather, who 
will be honored by his coming. My aunt, too, and my cousins 
would be proud to show Miss Stanforth Seville.” 

“ Oh, papa,” exclaimed Gipsy impetuously, catching these words 
as she approached, “ to know some Spaniards. Then we should 
really see the country.” 

She broke off, blushing; and Alvar, springing up, offered her a 
seat, and introduced her to his brother, while Mr. Stanforth said — 

“ Thank you, we could not refuse such a kind offer; but I want 
to make Seville my head-quarters, and make excursions from thence. 
What sort ot inns have you? Are they pleasant for ladies?” 

“ Papa, you know we_ settled that I was not going to be a lady.” 

“ Did we, my dear? I was not a party to that arrangement. You 
are not quite a gypsy yet, you know.” 

“ There are inns,” said Alvar, “ but the best plan is to take a flat 
in what we cal l a ‘ Casa de pupillos, 9 a pension , 1 suppose. I know 
one. Dona Catalina, who keeps it, is an excellent lady, most de- 
vout, and she once received an English family, so she knows better 
bow you like to eat and drink.” 

“ I don’t mean to eat and drink anything that is not Spanish,” 
said Gipsy, laughing. 

“ Indeed,” said Alvar, “ you will not often find anything that is 
English. 1 sometimes fear that my brother will not like that.” 

“ Yo.u have a lively remembrance of being asked to eat oat-cake 
and porridge, and drink what we call sherry,” said Cheriton. 

“ But L will not expect that you should like things that are strange 
to you, querido ,” said Alvar, a speech that revealed a little of the 
family history to Mr. Stanforth ’s sharp eyes; while Gipsy said ear- 
nestly — 

“ Oh, the strangeness is what 1 expect to enjoy.” 

A good deal more information of different kinds followed, and 
Cherry wondered at his own ignorance of Alvar’s former sur- 
roundings. 

“ Why, I did not know that your cousins lived with you,” he 
said. 

V 1 did not speak much of Seville to you,” said Alvar, with ever 
so slight an emphasis, the first reminder he had ever given that there 
had been one to whom he could talk freely. 

“ We were all too much occupied with teaching you about West- 
moreland, and lately I think I have been too stupid to care. But 
you must give me some Spanish lessons soon.” 

“ Have you been long in England?” said Mr. Stanforth to Alvar. 

“ 1 came at Christmas. Ah, how cold it was! The boys and 
Nettie laughed at me because I did not like it. They ran out into 


Atf ENGLISH SQUIRE. 139 

the snow without their hats that I might feel ashamed of sitting by 
the tire,” said Alvar quaintly. 

“ Ah, we were a set ot terrible young Philistines!” said Cheriton. 
“ Do you remember the snow man and the wrestling?” 

“ 1 wish you could wrestle with me now, my brother,” said Alvar 
affectionately. 

“ That must be the effect of Spanish sunshine, instead of West- 
moreland snow ; and in the meantime we must not tire you with 
. talking,” said Stanforth, perceiving that Cherry hardly liked the 
allusion. “ Come, Gipsy, isn’t it time for one of the innumerable 
meals we have on board ship?” 

“Oh, papa, 1 am sure you are always ready for them,” said 
Gipsy, following him. 

Mr. Stanforth, on discovering more clearly the whereabouts ot 
Uakby, recollected having visited Ashrigg some years ago, when 
engaged on a portrait of some member of Sir John Hubbard’s fam- 
ily. He perceived with some amusement that Alvar attached no 
ideas to his name or to his profession; and Cherry had scarcely 
realized either, so that when the next morning Mr. Stantorth came 
up to speak to him, with a sketch-book in his hand, he said, quite 
simply — 

“ 1 see you have been drawing; ma}^ I look?” 

“If you will not think I have taken a great liberty, ” said Mr. 
Stanforth, giving him the book. 

Cheriton laughed and exclaimed at one or two exquisitely outlined 
likenesses of their fellow -passengers, hitting off their peculiarities 
with a touch, then admired a little bit of blue sky and dancing wave, 
with a pair of sea-gulls hanging white and soft in the midst, while 
under were written the lines — 

“ As though life’s only call and care 
Were graceful motion.” 

“ How lovely!” he said; “ how wonderfully well you do it! Ah, 
that is Alvar— yes, you have caught that grave, graceful look ex- 
actly. Alvar is just like a walking picture; he can’t be awkward.” 

“ 1 am afraid I have not been so successful with Alvar’s brother; 
but the contrast was irresistible,” said Mr. Stanforth, as Cherry 
turned another page, and saw a sketch of himself lying on the deck, 
and Alvar, leaning over him, and pointing out something in the 
distance. 

“ That is just Alvar’s look.” 

“ You are a much more difficult subject than your brother,” said 
Mr. Stanforth. 

“1? 1 don’t think I’m tit to sit for my picture. We tried in 
London to get a pliotogiaph taken ; but it made me look worse than 
I am, so we did not send it home.” 

“You must let me try again. As an artist 1 may be forgiven for 
rejoicing in the chance of studying such a likeness beneath such a 
contrast as there is between you two. See your faces are in the 
same mold; it is the color, and still more the character, that differs.” 

“ 1 think that may be true of more than our faces,” said Cherry 
thoughtfully; “ but I see what you mean, at least when 1 think of 
Jack, and we were alike when 1 was well. I will show you.” 


140 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


Here Cheriton caught sight of the name on the first page of the 
book, “ Raymond Stanforth,” looked at the drawings, and then at 
his new friend’s face with a rush of comprehension. 

“How stupid I have been!” he exclaimed, coloring. “1 beg 
your pardon. Ot course 1 ought to have guessed who it was at 
once. Pray don’t think I am so ignorant as not to know your pict- 
ures. And I have been presuming to praise your sketches.” 

Mr. Stanforth laughed kindly. 

“You must not leave oft doing so now we have found each other 
out. Don’t imagine that appreciation is not always pleasant.” 

“ Y'ou have a great many admirers at Oxford,” said Cheriton, a 
little stiffly and shyly. “ Some ot the fellows prided themselves 
immensely on their appreciation of all sorts of modern art; but 
I’m afraid I don’t know very much about it.” 

“ You employed your time, 3 r our brother tells me, to better pur- 
pose?” 

“ L don’t know. I thought so then. And it seemed more worth 
while to get a ride or pull on the river. 1 don’t see what a fellow 
wants in his room but an arm-chair and a place for his books, and a 
good fire. One had better be out of doors when one isn’t working. 
1 don’t caie to have my rooms like a lady’s drawing-room. But of 
course,” he added apologetically, “ 1 always like to go to the Acad- 
emy and see the pictures.” 

Mr. Stanforth looked very much amused, but he was interested 
too. It is not uncommon in } r outh that considerable powers of mind 
may be exercised so entirely in one line, as to leave many fields of 
intelligence completely blank, and there were many points on which 
Cheriton simply accepted the code of his home, which, put into 
plain language, was, that study was study, and recreation out-of- 
door exercise of different kinds, intellectual amusements being re- 
garded with suspicion. But there was much more than the boyish 
“ Philistinism ” of this last speech written on the face of the speaker, 
and Mr. Stanforth felt inclined to draw it out. 

“ What did you say you were going to show me?” he said. 

“ 1 wanted you to see the rest ot us!” said Cherry. “ Where is 
Alvar? He would get my photograph case!” 

Alvar was near at hand,, talking to Gipsy Stanforth, and to some 
other ladies, and he soon brought Cheriton a little leather case 
which contained a long row of handsome Lesters, and ended with 
the favorite dogs and horses, and a view of the front door at Oakby, 
with Nettie holding Buffer on the back of one of the stone wolves. 

“ There is a ready-made picture,” said Mr. Stanforth. 

“My brother loves that little animal,” said Alvar smiling, “he 
would like his picture better than that of any of us.” 

“ I am suie some of our dogs are wmrth painting,” said Cherry, 
“ but Alvar does not appreciate Buffer’s style.” 

And so, brightened by the fresh companionship and new scenes, 
the days slipped by, still Cheriton wished their sameness could con- 
tinue forever. 


AK EXGLISH SQUIRE. 


141 


CHAPTER II. 

SAN JOSE. 

“ The lizard, with his shadow on the stone, 

Rests like a shadow, and the cicala sleeps, 

The purple flowers droop. 1 ’ 

At Gibraltar the new acquaintances parted, and Mr. Stanforth 
and his daughter went at once to join their friends at San Jose, 
with many hopes expressed ot soon meeting at Seville; whither 
Cheriton, unwilling to detain Alvar fiom his friends, wished to go 
immediately. Mr. Stanforth’s holiday was not au idle one. Every 
walk he took, every change ol light and shade was a feast of new 
color and form to him, to be perpetuated by sketches more or less 
elaborate, and the enjoyment of which was intense. But the pair of 
dissimilar brothers had afforded him interest ot another kind, and it 
was with real pleasure that he thought of a renewal of the inter- 
course with them, which came about sooner than he had expected. 
His friends, the Westons, were a brother and two sisters, lively peo- 
ple approaching middle age. Mr. Weston had a government ap- 
pointment in Gibraltar, and his sisters lived with him. They were 
enterprising, cultivated women, and very fond ot Gipsy Stanfortfl; 
who possessed that power of quick sympathetic interest which ot 
all thing3 makes a delightful companion. She was always finding 
“ bits ” and “ effects ” for her father, or suggesting subjects for his 
pencil; and she was almost equally pleased to hunt for flowers for 
the botanical Miss Weston, and to look out words in the dictionary 
for the literary one, who was translating a set of Spanish tales. 

A propos of these, she related with much interest their acquaint- 
ance on board ship, describing the two Lesters with a naivete that 
amused her friends, and prompted Miss Weston to say — 

“ Ton seem to have been very fortunate in j r our traveling com- 
panions, Gipsy.” 

“ Yes, we were. And it will be such an advantage to know a 
native family at Seville. That sounds as if they were heathens; 
but — I declare that is Don Alvar, buying oranges! Oh! I am so 
glad to see you ! So you have come here after all.” 

“ Yes. Cheriton w 7 as so ill at Gibraltar that it was plain that he 
co.uld not bear the journey to Seville. It is cooler flere, and lie is a 
little better; but he can do nothing yet, aud 1 am very unhappy. I 
do not know what to write, to my father about him.” 

“ Oh, 1 am sorry,” said* Gipsy w T armly. “ He seemed better on 
board. And this place is so lovely.” 

“ Yes,” said Alvar simply. “ I could feel as if 1 was in heaven 
in the sunshine, and when I hear the voices ot my home; but when 
he suffers, it daikens all. But I must go back to him” 

“ Papa will come and see you,” said Gipsy; “ and this is Miss 
"Weston, with whom we are staying. Good-by. I think your brother 
will be belter when he has had a rest.” 

Gipsy’s cheerful sympathy brightened Alvar, who had expected 


142 


AH ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

that Spanish sunshine would make a miraculous cure; hut Cherry’s 
cough had been worse since they came on shore, and his spirits had 
failed unaccountably just when Alvar had expected him to recover 
them. 

Alvar had all along declared that it would be better to go by a 
Cadiz packet and thence by rail to Seville; but Mr. Lester believed 
in Peninsular and Orientarsteamers, and in the English doctors and 
hotels of Gibraltar. But there the heat and glare were hateful to 
Cheriton, the servant they had brought proved more of ahinderance 
than a help, and Alvar thought himself fortunate in obtaining leave 
from some Gibraltar acquaintances to use their house of San Jose 
for a month, after which Cheriton might be better able to encounter 
the strangers whom he really dreaded more than the traveling. Cer- 
tainly if change was what Cherry had needed he had obtained it 
thoroughly. Nothing could well have been more unlike Oakby than 
San Jose, and when Cheriton had had a little rest, had been teased 
by Mr. Stanforth for comparing the marble paved patio of the 
house to the Alhambra at the Crystal Palace, and, moved by the 
fortunate sympathy that had enabled him to “ take a fancy ” lo the 
kindlv artist, had confided to him that he was very homesick, and 
longed for Jack, though he did not like Alvar to know it, he bright- 
ened up and grew rather stronger. He was soon able to sit on the 
beach and try to learn Spanish, insisting on understanding the con- 
struction of the language, and asking questions sometimes rather 
puzzling to his tutor; while Gipsy set up a rivalry with him as to 
the number of words and phrases to be acquired in a day, in which 
she generally beat him hollow. Nor had. he any real want of appre- 
ciation of the new and beautiful world around him, and Mr. Stan- 
forth helped him to enjoy it. Life would be very dull but for the 
involuntary inclinations to acquaintance and friendship that brighten 
its ordinary course, and “ fancies ” are more often things to be 
thankful for than to put aside. This one roused Cheriton from the 
dullness that accompanies sorrow and sickness, and enabled him to 
turn at any rate the surface of his mind to fresh interests. 

Mr. Slanforth, on the other hand, whose sympathy had been 
quickened by the practice ot a most kindly life, found much to in- 
terest him in the bright, tender nature, evidently struggling under 
so heavy a cloud, and did not wonder at the affection with which 
the young man was obviously regarded— an affection made pathetic 
by the sad possibilities that were but too apparent. 

Gipsy was on very friendly terms with both the brothers, and 
was a new specimen ot girlhood for them. She was quite as clc-ver 
and as well educated as either Ruth or Virginia, and had been in 
the habit of living with much more widely cultivated people— peo- 
ple who talked, and had something to talk about, so that she had a 
great deal to say; while there was a quaint matter-of-factness about 
her tno, and she talked art as simply as she would have talked dress; 
and while she was very much interested in the two young men, she 
never troubled herself at all about her relations toward them. She 
scolded Cherry for walking too far, and discoursed on the suitability 
of his appearance for artistic purposes with equal simplicity; 
fetched and carried for him, and triumphed over his deficiencies in 
Spanish. She received Alvar’s courtesies and compliments with the 


AST ENGLISH SQUIRE. 143 

greatest delight, and proceeded to return them in kind, till she actu- 
ally rendered him almost free and easy, and he talked so much 
of "her that Cheriton grew half -frightened, unknowing that his own 
remark, that he wished Nettie could know so nice a girl as Miss 
Stanforth, had inspired Alvar with the notion that Ruth might find 
a successor in La Zingara, as he called her. But Gipsy was per- 
fectly unconscious, and was moreover carefully wa.tched over by 
her father and her friends. By the end of the month Cheriton was 
able to undertake the journey to Seville, and the Stan forths proposed 
to start at the same time, but to go by a different route, which en- 
abled them to see more of the country. 

“ But,”' said Gipsy, one evening when they were all together on 
the beach, “ we must get to Seville in time for a bull fight, and Don 
Alvar says there are none in the winter, ” 

“But, Miss Stanforth,” said Cherry, “ you surely would not go 
to a bull- fight.” 

“ Wouldn’t you?” said Gipsy mischievously. 

“ Well, yes — tor once 1 think 1 should.” 

“ 1'ou would not like it, Cheriton,” said Alvar. 

“ Don’t you?” echoed Cherry, with a glance at Gipsy. 

“ Oh, yes; it is grand! When the bull makes a rush one holds 
the breath, and then— it is a shout!” 

“ i suppose it is a wonderful spectacle,” said Mr. Stanforth. 
“ 1 hope to have a chance, but I think Gipsy will have to take it on 
trust.” 

“ Jack desired me not to encourage them,” said Cherry, “ but I 
must own to a great curiosity about it.” 

“ But I shall not let you go,” said Alvar; “ it would tire you far 
too much; and besides you are too tender-hearted. My brothers,” 
he added to Mr. Stanforth, “ can not bear to see anything hurt, un- 
less they hurt it themselves; then they. do not mind.” 

“Of course,” said Cherry, “ there is an essential difference be- 
tween incurring danger, or at least fatigue and exertion yourself, 
and sitting by to see other people incur it. 1 have no doubt it is a 
barbarous sort of thing, and there is something dreadful in the idea 
of a lady being present at it; but it would be stupid, 1 think, to 
come away without seeing anything so characteristic.” 

“ The Spanish ladies do not mind it, nor I,” said Alvar, “ any 
more than you mind killing your foxes) or your fish; but it is differ- 
ent for foreigners. They do not like to see the horses, though they 
are mostly worthless ones, torn in pieces. You w T ould be ill, que - 
rido, you might faint.” 

“ Nonsense,” said Cherry. “ 1 might hate it, but 1 should not 
be so soft as that.” 

“ You do not know,” said Alvar, evidently not disposed to yield. 

“ Some day,” with a glance at Gipsy, “ I will tell you. You shot 
the old horse yourself for fear the coachman should hurt him — but 
it made you cry; and if a dog whines it grieves you.” 

“Old Star that I learned to ride on!” said Cherry indignantly. 

“ What has that to do with it?” 

“ And besides,” resumed Alvar, perhaps a little wickedly, “ bull- 
fights are usually on Sunday, and are quite as bad as billiards or the 
guitar, which you say in England are wrong.” 


144 


AN ENGLISH SQUIKE. 


“ These are frightful imputations on you, Cheriton,” said Mr. 
Stanforth; “a tender heart, and too strict a sense of duty. No 
wonder you are obstinate. But if what 1 have read be true, a bull- 
tight is a hard pull on our insular nerves sometimes, and 1 doubt it 
you are in condition for one.” 

“ 1 don’t want to see a bull-ring at Oakby,” said Cherry.; '‘but 
Alvar is mistaken if he thinks 1 should mind it more than other peo- 
ple do. There is enough of a sporting element, I suppose, to keep 
one from dwelling on the details.” 

“ 1 see, Mr Lester,” said Gipsy, “ that you don’t believe in the 
rights of women.” 

‘‘No, Miss Stanforth, I certainly don’t. 1 believe in my right to 
protect them from what is unpleasant.” 

“ But not to give them their own way! Papa, don’t look at me 
like that. 1 don’t want to go and see horses killed on a Sunday, if- 
Mr. Lester does. But a bull-fight— the national sport ot Spain— and 
the matadors who are so courageous— ah! it makes such a differ- 
ence the way things are put.” 

“You must learn to look at the essentials, my dear. But now 
shall we have a last stroll to the point to see the sunset?” 

“ You need not tell granny if 1 do go to the bull fight,” whispered 
Cherry, as Alvar helped him up, and gave him his arm across the 
rough shingles. 

CHAPTER 111. 

SEVILLE. 

“ Golden fruit, fresh plucked and ripe.” 

44 And now, my brother, you see Seville. At last 1 can show you 
my beautiful city!” 

“ Why — why, you never said it was like this!” 

The Lesters had finally settled to go to Cadiz by sea, and thence 
by rail to Seville, again breaking their journey at Xeres. The 
Stanfprtlis were making the journey across country; but Cher- 
iton was not equal to long days on horseback, nor to risking the 
accommodations or no accommodations of the venlas and posadas 
(taverns and inns) where they might have to stop. He was quite 
ready, however, to be excited and patriotic as they passed through 
the famous waters of Trafalgar, and curious to taste sherry at Xeres, 
where it proved exceedingly bad. They arrived at Seville in the 
afternoon, and were driving from the station when Alvar interrupt- 
ed Cherry’s astonished contemplation of the scene with the forego- 
ing remark. 

“Ah, it pleases you!” he said in a tone of satisfaction, as they 
passed under the Alcazar, the Moorish palace, wilh its wonderful 
relics ot a bygone faith and power — the great cathedral, said to be 
“ a religion in itself ’’—and saw the gay tints of the painted build- 
ings, the picturesque turn ot the streets, the infinite variety of color 
and costume, and over all the pure blue of the sky and the glorious 
intensity of Southern sunlight. 

Cheriton had no words to express his admiration, and only re- 
peated— 


145 


A 1ST ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“You never told me tliat it was like this.” 

“ You did not understand,” said Alvar; “ and perhaps 1 did not 
know.” 

He did not show any emotion, but his face smoothed out into an 
expression of satisfaction and well-being, and he smiled with a little 
air of triumph at Cherry ’3 ecstasies. This was what he had belong- 
ing to himself in the background all the time, when his relations had 
thought him so ignorant and inexperienced, and Alvar, like all the 
Lesters, valued himself on his own belongings. 

They drove up to the door of a large house, painted in various 
colors, and with gaydy striped blinds and balconies; while through 
the ornamental iron gates they caught glimpses of the patio, gay 
with flowers. 

Cheriton thought of the winter’s night, the blazing fire, the shy', 
stiff greetings that had formed Alvar’s first glimpse of Oakby. The 
great gates were opened, and as they came in a tall old man came 
forward, into whose arms Alvar threw himself with some vehement 
Spanish words of greeting; then, in a moment, he turned and drew 
Cheriton forward, saying, still in Spanish — 

“ My grandfather, this is my dear brother.” 

Don Guzman de la Rosa bowed profoundly, and then shook hands 
with Cheriton, who contrived to understand his greeting and in- 
quiry after his health, and to utter a few words in reply, feeling 
more shy than he had ever done in his life; but then he was at fault. 

“ My grandfather says you are like what our father was when he 
came here; that is true, is it not? And now come in.” 

Don Guzman showed the way into an inner room, which seemed 
dark after the brilliant patio, and was furnished much like an ordi- 
nary drawing-room; and here Cheriton was introduced to Dona 
Luisa Aviego, a middle-aged lady, Don Guzman’s niece, and to two 
exceedingly pretty young girls, and a little girl, her daughters. He 
felt surprised at seeing them all in French fashions. Here also was 
their biother, Don Manoel, a tall, dark, solemn looking young man, 
who exactly fulfilled Cheriton’s idea of a Spaniard, and enabled him 
to understand Dona Luisa’s remarlv that Alvar had grown into an 
Englishman. The old grandfather was like a picture of Don Quix- 
ote, a very ideal of chivalry, which character a life of prudent, care- 
ful indifferentism entirely belied. 

Alvar would not let Cherry stay to talk, telling him that he must 
rest before dinner, which was at five, and soon took him upstairs 
into a very comfortable bedroom, looking out on a pretty garden, 
and opening into another belonging to himself. 

Cheriton laughed and submitted, but the novelty and beauty had 
taken his impressionable nature by storm and carried him quite out 
of himself. When left alone, he had leisure for the surprising 
thought that his father had gone through all these experiences with- 
out their apparently leaving any trace except one of distaste and 
aversion : next, to wonder whether it was Alvar’s fault or their own 
that they had remained so ignorant of Alvar’s country: and lastly, 
that spite of the similarity of coloring to his Spanish kindred and 
something iu the carriage, Alvar did look like a Lester and an En- 
glishman after all. 

Cherry had .got used by this time in some degree to the Spanish 


146 


AH EH&LISH SQUIRE. 

eatables, and as he liked the universal chocolate and was as little 
fanciful as any one so much out of health could be, he got on as 
well as his bad appetite would let him, with the ollas and gazpachou, 
spite of their garlic, and at any rate he liked omelettes and the 
bread, which was excellent. Their servant, Robertson, had, how- 
ever, regarded everything Spanish with such horror, and had proved 
of so little use and so disagreeable, that Cheritun finally cut the 
knot by sending him back to Gibraltar, where he hoped to find a 
homeward-bound family, Alvar being certain that there would be 
sufficient attendance at his grandfather’s. 

Conversation at dinner was difficult. They all understood a little 
English, which was rather more available than Cheriton’s Spanish, 
and Don Manoel spoke tolerably fiuent French, to which, as Cheri- 
ton had in his time earned several French prizes, he ought to have 
been able to respond more readily than was perhaps the case. Cheri- 
ton did not mind seeing grapes and melons eaten after soup, though 
he thought the taste an odd one, but he could not quite reconcile 
himself to the universal smoking after the first course in the pres- 
ence of the ladies. The young ones were very silent, though they 
cast speaking glances at him with their great languishing eyes; till 
after dinner the little girl, whom Cherry 1 bought the softest and 
prettiest thing he had ever seen, produced a great blushing and tit- 
tering by whispering a question, which, while apparently reproving. 
Dona Carmen was evidently encouraging her to repeat to Alvar, who 
6at on her other side. 

Alvar laughed and shook his head. 

“Ho, Dolores; 1 think there is not one like him,” he said, adding 
to Cherry — “ She wants to know if all Englishmen are like you — 
white and golden like the saints in the cathedral. It is true, she 
means the painted statues.” 

“ 1 am pale, because I have been ill,” said Cherry, in his best 
Spanish, and holding out his hand. “ Little one, will you make 
friends? What shall I say to her, Alvar?” 

But Dolores, with an ineffable expression of demure coquetry, 
retreated upon her sister, and would not accept his attentions, 
though she peeped at him under her long eye-lashes directly he 
turned away. 

The family met at eleven for a sort of dejeuner d la four chette, but 
every one had chocolate in their own rooms at any hour they 
pleased, with bread or sponge-cake, which they call pan del Bey. 
Alvar brought some on the next morning to Cheriton, and while he 
was drinking it proceeded to enlighten him a little on the family 
affairs and habits. 

“ 1 perceive that the prayer- bell does not ring at half -past eight,” 
said Cherry smiling. 

“ Ho, the ladies all go to church every morning. In the country 
my grandfather is up early, and Manoel too, but here 1 cannot say 
— we meet at eleven. It is usual to write letters or transact business 
in the morning on account of the heat.” 

“ Does Don Manoel — is that what I ought to call him? — live here? 
Has he anything to do?” 

Alvar then explained that Manoel had no regular occupation, hav- 
ing a little money of his own. He smoked and played cards, and 


14 ? 


AX ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

went to the casino, “ that is wliat you call a club.” Moreover he 
was a very good Catholic, and though he had not openly joined the 
Carlist party— the Royalists as Alvar called them— lie was thought 
to have a leaning toward them : but Don Guzman never allowed 
politics to be discussed in his house— neither politics nor religion. 

“ Is he a ‘ good Catholic,’ too?” asked Cherry. 

Alvar shrugged his shoulders. 

“ He conforms,” he said. “ You understand that 1 am English. 
I have no part in these matters, otherwise at times my grandfather 
might have suffered lor allowing me to be brought up as a Protest- 
ant; but 1 was taught to see that they did not concern me. But, 
quendo , you must not talk and ‘ discuss’ as you do with Jack at 
home, or you might make a quarrel.” 

“ No, I understand thab But if I were you I should not like to 
be supposed to be an outsider.” 

“ In both countries?” said Alvar. “ No; but you see 1 had been 
taught that 1 was an Englishman.” 

“ Yet your grandfather would not let you come to England when 
you were a boy. ’ ’ 

“My grandfather,” said Alvar, “hates the priests. He would 
rather have me for his heir, though l am a heretic, than Manoel. 
That is true, though he would not say so. Look, he has seen many 
changes in this country, one is as bad as the other; he would rather 
be quiet and let things pass. So would I.” 

“ The Vicar of Bray,” murmured Cherry. “ That creed is born 
of despair,” he said aloud. “ 1 should be miserable to think so of 
any country.” 

“ Yes?” said Alvar, with a sort of unmoved inquiry in his tone. 
“You have convictions. In England they are not difficult. But, 
besides, my grandmother loved me very much, and not only was she 
religious like all women, she was what you call good. She would 
not part with me, and I loved her.” 

Alvar paused ayd put tiis liand.across his eyes, with more emotion 
than he often showed. 

“ She thought,” he continued, “ that 1 should perhaps become a 
Catholic if 1 married a SeviUana , and that my father’s neglect would 
make me altogether a De la Rosa. Forgive me, Cheriton, it is not 
quite to be forgotten. ” 

“ 1 think it was very likely to be the case,” said Cheriton. 

“ No, it was not the part of my father’s son, nor for an English- 
man, nor did my grandfather wish it. I am no Catholic — never!” 

“ 1 suppose your tutor was— was a strong Protestant?” said 
Cheriton, rather surprised at the first religious conviction he had 
ever heard from Alvar’s lips. 

“ Well, I do not think you would have approved of him nor my 
father if he had known. He, what is it you say? — did no duty — 
and I do not think he was much like your Mr. Ellesmere. He told 
me that he was paid ‘ to put the English doctrines inlo me and teach 
me to speak English;’ and he would sav, ‘ Remember it is your part 
to be a Protestant because you are an English gentleman.’ ” 

“ But,” said Cherry, “ when you came to England you must 
surely have seen that we did not look on it in that way?” 

“ I did not much attend to your words on it,” said Alvar. “ As 


148 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

you know, what my father required of me I did, and 1 saw that 
English gentlemen thou edit much of their churches and their priests 
— or at least, that my father did so. 1 conformed, but I had not ex- 
pected that in England, too, 1 should be a foreigner— a stranger. 
And I would not be other than my real self.” 

“ I’m afraid we were very unkind to } r ou.” 

“ You? Never!” said Alvar. 

“ But why did you never tell me all this before? 1 should have 
understood you so much better.” 

“ 1 did not think ot it till 1 considered what would seem strange 
to you here — what you would not comprehend easily.” 

Cheriton remained silent. That Alvar had all his life considered 
himself so entirely as a Lester and an Englishman was a new light 
to him, and he could fully appreciate tlie check of finding himself 
regarded by the Lesters as an alien, for he knew that even he him- 
self had never ceased so to look upon Alvar. 

“ We understand each other now,” he said affectionately. “1 
am glad you have told me this. But, Alvar, though, ‘ convictions ’ 
may seem to you easy in England, you would make a great mistake 
if you imagined that the religion of such a man as my father was 
for the sake of what you call conformity, and that it did not influ- 
ence his life.” 

“ No,” said Alvar, “ 1 did not think so of my father and you. 1 
did not comprehend at first, but I see now that— it interests you.” 

“ Never doubt that,” said Cheriton earnestly. “ You have seen 
all my failures, but never doubt that is the one thing ‘ interesting,’ 
the one thing to — to give one another chance.” 

He paused as a look of unspeakable enthusiastic conviction passed 
over his face; then blushed intensely, and was silent. Like most 
young men, whatever their views, tie' was in the habit .of talking a 
good deal of “theology,” and could have rectified Alvar’s hazy 
notions with ease; but personal experiences in such discussions w r ere 
generally left on one side. 

Alvar did not follow him; but perhaps that look made more im- 
pression than a great many arguments on the status of religion in 
England.” 

“ Don’t imagine 1 underrate your difficulties, or my own, or any 
one’s,” Cherry added hurriedly. 

“ 1 have no difficulties ” said Alvar, simply; “ 1 believe you— al- 
ways. Now, do not talk any longer— rest before you get up.” 

Cheriton now perceived that the sort of separation that had been 
pursued with regard to Alvar accounted for much of his indolence 
and indifference. He recognized how deeply his pride had been 
wounded by his kindred’s cold reception, and he in a measure under- 
stood the sort of loyalty, half-proud, half-faithful, that held him 
to his own. He found that Alvar had never written a w ord of com- 
plaint of his family home to Seville; he perceived that as time went 
on he dropped nothing that he had acquired in England, either of 
dress or speech, attended the English service at the Consulate regu- 
larly, even if Cheriton was unable to go, and preferred to be called 
Mr. Lester. Cheriton saw that he intended no one to think that his 
English residence had been a failure. 

But there was one phase of this feeling of which even Cheriton 


149 


AH EHGLTSH SQUIRE. 

hacl no suspicion. Alvar dfd not forget that one thing had belonged 
to him in England, to which Spain offered no parallel. He refused 
tD answer any questions from his grandfather as to his engagement 
or its breach. He had not been brought up to think that romantic 
passion was a necessary accompaniment of a marriage engagement, 
but rather as a thing to be got through first; and it had been with a 
very quiet appreciation that he hacl given his hand away at his fa- 
ther’s request. And when V ifginia was once his, he was thoroughly 
contented with her, her rejection had wounded him exceedingly, and 
now he missed her confiding sweetness increasingly, he felt that a 
good thing was gone from him, and he would not now have attempt- 
ed to console Cheriton as he had done at Oakby. But he never 
spoke ot his feelings, and as Cheriton could not think that he had 
acted rightly by Virginia, the subject was never mentioned between 
them. 


CHAPTER IV. 

EL TOBO. 

' “ The ungentle sport that oft invites 

The Spanish maid and cheers the Spanish swain.” 

One of Alvar’s first occupations was to find a lodging for the 
Stanf orths, and one of the Miss Westons, whom they brought with 
them, and lie succeeded in obtaining a flat in a cam de pupillos or 
; pension , not far from the De la Rosas’, in a picturesque street, with 
a pleasant sitling-room, where Mr. Stanf orth could paint. There 
was a delightful landlady, Senora Catalina, who went to mass with 
the greatest regularity every morning, but afterward was ready to 
spend any part of the day in escorting the ladies wherever they 
wished to go, only objecting to Gipsy’s dislike to allow her dress to 
trail on the pavement, a point on which neither could convince Ihe 
other, Spanish ladies considering the looping of the dress improper, 
and Gipsy not being able to reconcile herself to the normal condi- 
tion ot the pavements ot Seville. Mr. Stanf ortli, however, fre- 
quently accompanied them, and they did a vast amount ot sight- 
seeing, in which they w ere joined by the two Lesters so far as 
Cheri ton’s strength would permit; and as sketching often made Mr. 
Stanforth stationary, Cherry liked to sit by him, enjoying a great 
deal of discursive talk on things in general, and entering with vivid 
interest into the novelty and beauty around. . Cherry asked a great 
many more questions about Moorish remains, and ecclestiastical cus- 
toms, than Alvar was at all able to answer; and as his Spanish im- 
proved, endeavored to pick the brains of every one with whom he 
came in contact; was so intelligent and so inquisitive about the ar- 
rangment of the different churches, that old Padre Tome, the 
ladies’ confessor, looked upon him as a possible convert, and though 
solemnly warned by Alvar never to talk politics with any one, could 
not always resist teasing him by hovering round the subject. He 
got on very well with Don Guzman, and listened to a great deal ot 
proposing about the best way of breeding young bulls for the ring, 
and about all the varieties ot game to be found on the old gentle 
man’s country estate, and soon perceived that he had considerably 


150 AK -EtfGLISH SQUIBE. 

underrated the sporting capacities of the peninsula. He was not a 
favorite with Don Manoel, who suspected himself of being laughed 
at; and though Dona Luisa was very kind to him, he was hardly 
allowed to exchange a word with the young ladies, nnd to his great 
amusement perceived that he was considered likely to follow his 
father’s example, and make love to them. Little Dolores, however, 
was less in bondage to propriety, and became very fond of him, 
making vain endeavors to pronounce “ Cherry,” and teaching him 
a great deal of Spanish. Miss Weston, who was a hearty enthu- 
siastic woman, with rather an overpowering amount of conversation, 
approved of what she called his spirit of inquiry, and was possibly 
not insensible to his good looks and winning manners.* He did not 
now shrink from home letters, and indeed spent more time than 
Alvar thought good for him in replying to Jack’s voluminous dis- 
quisitions on his first weeks of Oxford. Alvar thought that he had 
entirely recovered his spirits, and indeed Cheriton was one whose 
“ mind had a thousand eyes,” and they let in a good deal of surface 
light, though he was himself well aware of colder, darker depths 
whose sun had set forever, and which could only be reached by the 
slowly penetrating rays of a far intenser light. Though no word of 
direct confidence ever passed between him and Mr. Stanforth, the 
latter knew perfectly well that mental as well as physical change 
had been sought in the sunny south. His health improved consider- 
ably, though with many ups and downs, he felt fairly well, and did 
not attempt to try the extent of his powers. 

He w r as very anxious not to be a restraint on Alvar’s intercourse 
with his friends or on his natural occupations; but except that he 
sometimes went to evening parties which Cheriton avoided, Alvar 
generally preferred to escort Gipsy and Miss Weston to the tops of 
all the buildings which Mr. Stanforth sketched from below, or into 
every corner of the Alcazar, and every chapel of the cathedral, both 
of which places had a wonderful charm for Cheriton. 

Miss Stanforth was allowed to make friends with Alvar’s cousins, 
Carmen and Isabel. She had once gone to a fancy ball, dressed in a 
mantilla, and had been told that she looked “ very Spanish,” with 
her dark eyes and hair; a delusion from which she awoke the first 
time she saw her new friends dressed for church (they did not w T ear 
mantillas often on secular occasions); and great was their amusement 
at Gipsy’s vain endeavor to give exactly the becoming twist to the 
black lace, and to flirt her fan in the approved style. Gipsy was a 
bit of a mimic, but She could not satisfy herself or them. 

“ It is of no use, Miss Stanforth,” said Cheriton, when she com- 
plained to him of her difficulties. “Alvar does not like walking 
out with me in an ‘ Ulster ’ when the wind is cold, so he endeavored 
to teach me to wear one of those marvelous cloaks which they all 
throw about their shoulders; but 1 can only get it over my head, 
and under my feet, and everywhere that it ought not to be.” 

“ Well,” said Alvar, “ you would not let me go to Hazelby in 
my cloak; you said that the little boys would laugh at me.” 

44 But a great-coat,” said Cherry, “ is a rational kind of garment 
that can’t look odd anywhere.” 

44 That is as you think,” said Alvar; “but 1 do not care what 


151 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

« 

you wear; if you like it. You will not certainly look like a Spaniard 
even in the cloak.” 

‘‘A greatcoat,” said Miss Stantorlh, “is one of those graceful 
garments which have commended themselves to all aces. I do not 
know what early tradition was followed by the inventors of Noah’s 
Ark in the case of that patriarch — ” 

“Now, Mr. Stanforth, that is too hard,” interrupted Cherry. 
“ At least it has pockets.” 

“ So many,” said Alvar, “ that what you want is always in an- 
other one.” 

“Alvar, that cloak is your one weakness. You clung to it in 
England, and you put it on the moment you landed in Spain.” 

“ Cheriton thinks it a seal-skin,” said Mr. Stanforth smiling. 

“ Seal-skin,” said Alvar. “ No, it is cloth and silk.” 

“ Did you never hear of the fisherman who married a mermaid, 
and she lived happily on shore till she fell in with a seal-skin; when 
she put it on, and, forgetting her husband and children, jumped 
into the sea and never came up any more?” 

“Ah no!” said Alvar. “It is only that 1 want Cherry to be 
comfortable while he is down among the fishes.” 

“ I will take to it some day. tor the sake of astonishing Jack,” 
said Cherry. “ But, Alvar, those friends of yours last night were 
very much interested in my traveling coat, and asked me if it was a 
Paris fashion. They put it on, and 1 tried to get Don Manoel into 
it; but he thought it was a herelical sort of affair.” 

“ Cherry, it you laugh at Manoel, he will think you insult him. 
He hates Englishmen, and our father especially. He was angry 
because you gave the jessamine to Isabel — and — we are polite here 
to each other; but if there is what you call a row it is worse than 
when every one is sulky all at once at Oakby.” 

Cherry looked as if the temptation to provoke this new experience 
was nearly irresistible; but Alvar continued to Mr. Stanforth— 

“lam glad that Cherito should laugh once more as he used to 
do; but my cousin does not understand.” 

“ My dear Alvar, 1 will content myself with laughing at you; 
you always understand a joke, don’t you?” 

“ 1 do not care it I understand or no. When 1 see you laugh- 
ing,” said Alvar simply, “ that is good.” 

Something in this speech so touched > Cheriton that his laughter 
softened away into a very doubtful smile, and he changed the sub- 
ject; but he tried afterward to propitiate Don Manoel by the most 
courteous treatment. The Spaniard did not respond, and he per- 
ceived that contending elements were discordant in Seville as well 
as in England. 

Carmen and Isabel found novelty less distasteful. It is true that 
they thought Gipsy’s free intercourse with their cousin Alvar and 
with the English stranger shocking; but they preferred them to any 
other subject of conversation, and Isabel in particular made quite 
a romance of the incident of the Cape Jessamine, and how Don 
Cherito had looked at her w T heu he gave it to her. 

“ But why shouldn’t he pick a bit of jessamine for you, if you 
couldn’t reach it for yourse.f ?” asked Gipsy, 

“ Oh, Manoel said it was an attention,” 


152 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ Oh dear no,” said Gipsy, rather cruelly, “ we shouldn’t think 
anything of it in England. Don Manoel needn’t be afraid.” 

“ Ah, but Manoel is terrible. He swore before Don Clierito came 
that he would poniard us if we, like our Aunt Maria, listened to a 
heretic, a stranger. For Don Giraldo was a wild wicked English- 
man, but beautiful in the extreme; they have no religion, and no 
morals.” 

“Isabel!” 

“ Oh, 1 tell you what Manoel says. He came, he pretended an 
accident, and then Dona Maria married him. Now, he says it is 
the same with Don Clierito. An illness — ” 

“ Any one can see that Oheriton Lester is really ill, at any rate.” 

“ Well— Manoel was angry with my grandfather for letting him 
come, and he has told Alvar that it should be death before such a 
marriage. Alvar told him he knew nothing of his English brother, 
who loved an English lady. But Manoel says that what happened 
once might again happen.” 

“ Isabel,” said her sister, “it is wrong to talk of this. If Zingara 
repeats it there will be a quarrel.” 

“1 shall not repeat it,” said Gipsy; “but it is all nonsense, I 
assure you.” 

“ Ah,” said Isabel, “ Manoel knows not. He knows not that I 
love one whom I have seen at mass, though 1 know not his name. 
But with my fan 1 can show him — ” 

“Isabel!” again said the grave Carmen; while Gipsy, who was 
far too well bred and well brought up to have made signs in church 
with anything, thought that “ mass ” and “ a signal with a tan ” 
sounded interesting, and that what would have been highly unlady- 
like at home was rather romantic in Seville. 

On their side Carmen and Isabel thought Gipsy hardly used in 
being kept away from the bull-fights, though she was too loyal to 
her nationality to expess any wish to see them. 

Don Manoel was a great lover of the ring, and as certain young 
bulls from Don Guzman’s estate were to be brought forward at the 
last corrida of the season, there was a great desire that the English- 
men should be present. Mr. Stanforth intended to avail himself of 
the chance of seeing such a spectacle, and Cheriton, Don Guzman 
said, might see one contest, and go awaj' before the other bulls 
were brought forward, if he found the fatigue too much for him. 
They would get seats on the shady side of the bull-ring, the great 
amphitheater said to be capable of holding ten thousand spectators. 

Cheriton, who went against Alvar’s wish, did not stay for the 
end, and Mr. Stanforth went to see if he had repented of the rather 
perverse desire to prove himself capable of enduring the spectacle. 
He found him, still full of excitement, resting on a sofa in the 
patio; while Alvar sat near him, smoking, and looking cool and 
bored, as if the bull fight had been a croquet parly. 

Mr. Stanforth’s entrance was rather inopportune, for Cherry was 
still too full of his impressions not to talk of them, and, in answer 
to Mr. Stanforth’s question, said eagerly— 

“ Oh, the heat has tired me— that is nothing. But it made one 
feel like a fiend. I f eJt all the' fascination of it— even the horror 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE, 


153 


had a dreadful sort of attraction. 1 could not have come away if 
Alvar had not pulled me out when 1 was too dizzy to resist him.” 

“ Very unwholesome fascination,” said Mr. Stanford]. 

“ Unwholesome! I should think sol It is abominable that such 
things should be. I tell Alvar that in his place 1 never would en- 
courage an appeal to the worst passions of human nature.” 

“ Well, yon would go, mi car o. I told you you would not like 
it,” said Alvar coolly. 

. “You should set an example of indignation!” 

“I? I do not care what they do to amuse themselves. It does 
not interest me, as much, I think, as it did you, my brother.” 

” No,” said Cherry slowly, “1 understand a good many things 
by this. I should be as bad as any of them. But when a country 
encourages and allows sifch ‘amusements.’ when women look on 
and like it, one cannot wonder at Spanish ciuelties. It appeals to 
everything that is bad in one.” 

You insult my country and your hosts! Don Cherito, such 
language is unpardonable!” exclaimed an unexpected voice; and 
Don Manoel came suddenly forward from one of the curtained 
doorways, close at hand. ‘‘ What right have you, sehor, to speak 
of our ancient customs in terms like these?” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Cheriton, after a moment’s pause of 
amazement, ‘‘if I have said anything to annoy you; but— 1 was 
not av. are that you were present. I was speaking to my brother.” 

“ Would you insinuate that I disguised my presence?” cried the 
Spaniard, with real rage in his tones, and a determination to show 
it. 

Then Alvar fired up with a sudden passion that had always 
startled his English kindred. 

“ Row dare you so address my brother! He shall say what he 
chooses!” 

“ Re shall not— nor you either! You call yourself Spaniard — 
Andaluz — you claim rights in Seville, and listen with complacence 
to the cowardly scruples — ” 

Here Alvar broke in with much too rapid Spanish for the Eng- 
lishmen to follow, interrupted as it was by Manoel’s rejoinder, and 
by furious gestures as if the disputants were going to fly at each 
other’s throats, while Mr. Stanforth’s mild attempts at interposing 
with — ‘‘ Come— come now; what nonsense! What is all this 
about?” were entirely unheard. 

Meanwhile, Cheriton’s previous excitement cooled down com- 
pletely. He got up from the sofa, and stepped between them, lay- 
ing his hard on Alvar’s arm. 

‘‘Excuse me, Alvar,” he said, in his slow, careful Spanish, 
“ this seems to be my affair. Senor Don Manoel, will. you have the 
goodness to tell me why you are offended with me?” 

‘‘ He called you a coward— you, my brother!” 

“ My dear fellow, be quiet, don’t be an ass.” (This in English 
for Alvar’s benefit.) ‘‘ Would you tell me what has provoked 
you?” 

“ Senor Don Cherito,” said Manoel, forced to answer civilly by 
Cheriton’s coolness — “ first, did you mean to insinuate that 1 
listened to your conversation with my cousin?” 


154 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

44 By no means,” said Cherry. “1 merely meant to say that 1 
had not seenyou.” 

44 Then 1 ask you, senor, to repeat or to withdraw the remarks 
you made about the bull-fight,” said Don Manoel, with the air of 
delivering an ultimatum. 

“ lie will not withdraw them!” cried Alvar. “ He is no coward!” 

44 I hope,” said Cheriton, 44 1 did nothing to offend. Were I in 
Don Manoel’s place I should feel, 1 am sure, as he does. 1, too, am 
attached to the customs of. my country. It is no doubt difficult for 
a stranger to judge. It I said the sport was cruel, 1 did not for a 
moment mean to imply that — that— those who see it must be cruel. 
Excuse my bad Spanish. 1 cannot express myself, but — pray let us 
shake hands.” 

He smiled, and held out his hand. 

“ Well, senor, you are Don Guzman de la Kosa’s guest. If this 
is meant for an apology — ” 

44 For having offended you— yes. Being Don Guzman’s guest, 1 
could not quarrel with his nephew.” 

44 1 accept the apology,” said Don Manoel, with much solemnity, 
and accepting Cherry’s hand. 

44 But,” said Alvar, 44 you applied an expression to my brother.” 

44 Oh, nonsense, Alvar; you know we never think of 4 expres- 
sions ’ when we are angry ; and I’m not aware of having had any 
opportunity of showing either cowardice or courage.” 

44 H’m,” said Mr. Stanforth, in English, 44 a tolerably cool head, 
I think.” 

Don Manoel. who appeared to have made up his mind to be 
magnanimous, remarked, that his expression had been used too 
hastily to a stranger; but that a true Spaniard would look on any 
scene with equanimity. Cherry’s lip curved a little, as it he thought 
this a doubtful advantage; but he answered with a laugh— 

44 1 am a stranger, senor; and besides, I was fatigued.” 

44 Ah,” said Manoel, 44 that amounts to an entire excuse. The 
expression is withdrawn.” And with a profound bow to Cheriton, 
he went away, and Cherry burst out laughing. 

44 What in the world did all that mean?” he said. 44 Did 1 really 
offend his national pride by turning sick at the dying horses?” 

44 That is not all,” said Alvar hurriedly; 44 he hates the English 
and us all; he would liKe to kill me.” 

44 Ah, ha, Alvar, it is my turn to talk about 4 excitement ’ now.” 

44 Well, 1 do not understand you. When you came home you 
could not be still; you seemed crazy. And now, when any gentle- 
man w T ould be enraged, you laugh.” 

44 Oh, 1 hate quarrels. And besides,” shrugging his shoulders, 
44 why in the world should 1 care for such mock-heroics as that?” 

44 Ah^ Cherry,” said Mr. Stanforth, 44 there spoke the very essence 
of English scorn.” 

Cheriton colored. 

44 True,” he said candidly, 44 Don Manoel had a right to be angry 
with me, after all. But I don’t mean it. I dare say he isn’t halt a 
bad fellow.” 

44 Ah, you are coughing. You will be tired out; and I am sure 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 155 

that you will not sleep,” said Alvar. “ Come, you shall not talk 
any more about anything.” 

‘‘ Very wise advice/’ said Mr. Stanforth, “especially as Gipsy 
has persuaded the whole party to come to-morrow to see my 
sketches, and drink English ‘ afternoon tea.’ So rest now in prep- 
aration.” 

Cheriton paid tor his day’s work by a bad night and much weari- 
ness. Don Manoel made very polite inquiries after him; but there 
was something in the atmosphere that, to quote Alvar’ Cherry “ did 
not understand.” 


CHAPTER V. 

NETTIE AT BAY. 

“ A child, and vain.” 

After the departure of the travelers; a period of exceeding flat- 
ness and dullness settled down on Oakby and its neighborhood. 
The weather was dismal, one or two other neighboring families were 
away, and no one thought it worth while to do anything. Jack had 
refused a congenial invitation, and conscientiously stayed at home 
“ to make it cheerful,” until he went up to Oxford; but, though he 
was t.oo well conducted and successful not to be a satisfactory son, 
he and his father were not congenial, and never could think of any- 
thing to say to each other. He had outgrown companionship with 
Bob, and did not now get on very well with him; while Nettie was 
never sociable with any one but her twin. Mrs. Lester, though very 
attentive to her son’s dinners and other comforts, did not trouble 
herself much about the boys, and moreover did not possess the com- 
fortable characteristic common to most elderly ladies— of being often 
to be found in one place. As Jack expressed it to himself, u no one 
was ever anywdiere;” and prone as he was to look on the dark side 
of things, the thought that this was what Home would be without 
Cherry, was perpetually before his mind. He did not like to go to 
Elderlhwaite, and saw nothing of its inhabitants till one misty day 
early in October, as he was walking through the lanes with Rolla 
and Buffer at his heels, he came suddenly upon Virginia, leaning 
over a stile, and looking, not at the view, for there was none, but at 
the mist and the distant rain. Her figure, in its long waterproof 
cloak, under an arch of brown and yellow hazel boughs, had an in- 
describably forlorn aspect; but Jack, awdtward fellow, was conscious 
of nothing but a sense of embarrassment and doubt what to say. 
She started and colored up, but with greater self-possession spoke 
to him, and held out her hand. 

“ How d’ye do?” said Jack. “ Down, Buffer, you’re all over 
mud.” 

“Oh, never mind, I don’t care, dear little fellow!” exclaimed 
Virginia, who would have hugged Buffer, mud and all, but for very 
shame. “ 1 did not know yoiT were at home, Jack.” 

“ Yes, but I’m going to Oxford next week.” 

“ Aud— and you have good accounts of Cherry?” 

“ Yes, pretty good, better than at first. He* says that he looks 
better, and does not cough so much, and he likes it; — so he says, at 


156 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


least/’ replied Jack, who, conceiving that propriety precluded the 
mention of Alvar’s name, found his personal pronouns puzzling. 

“ I am very glad,” said Virginia softly. 

“ Yes, 1 suppose they are at Seville by this time; they stayed at 
San Jose till Cherry was stronger. Al— he — they thought it best.” 

“ Your eldest brother would be very careful of him, I am sure,” 
said Virginia, with a gentle dignity that reassured Jack, though she 
blushed deeply. 

“ Yes,” he said more freely, “ and they have made some friends; 
Mr. Stanforth, the artist, you know, and his daughter; they’re very 
nice people, and they have been learning Spanish together. lie 
writes in very good spirits,” concluded Jack viciously, and referring 
to Cherry, though poor Virginia’s imagination supplied another 
antecedent. 

“ I am glad to hear it,” she said. “ I met that Miss Stanforth 
once. She was a pretty, dark-eyed child then. Good-by, Jack, 1 
am going soon to stay wilh my cousin Ruth.” 

“Good-by,” said Jack, with a scowl which she could not ac- 
count for. “ I hope you’ll enjoy yourself.” 

“ Guod-by; good-by, Buffer. 

Jack look his way home through the wet shrubberies. He felt 
sorry for Virginia, whom he regarded as injured by Alvar, but he 
thought that she ought to be angry with Ruth, never supposing that 
the latter’s delinquencies were .unknown to her. 

As he walked on he passed by a cart-shed belonging to a small 
farm of his father’s, above which was a hay-loft, reached by a step 
ladder, to the foot of which Buffer and Rolla both rushed, barking 
rapturously, and trying to get up the ladder. 

“Hullo! what’s up? —rats, 1 supjypse,” thought Jack; and 
mounting two or three steps of the very rickety ladder, he looked 
into the loft, his chin on a level with the floor. {Suddenly a blind- 
ing heap of hay was flung over his head; there was a scuffle and a 
rush, and Jack freed himself from the hay to find his head in Net- 
tie’s very vigorous embrace: and to see Dick Seyton swing himself 
down from the window of the loft and run away. 

“ {Stop, I say. Nettie, let go, what are you doing here? Dick, 
stop, I say,” cried Jack, scrambling up the ladder and rushing to 
the window, but Dick had vanished. 

“ Don’t stamp. Jack, you’ll come through; you should have run 
after him,” said Nettie saucily. 

Jack turned, but caught his foot in a hole and fell headlong into 
the hay, while Nettie sat and laughed at him, and the dogs howled 
at the foot of the ladder. 

Jack picked himself up cautiously, and sitting down on the hay, 
for there was hardly room for him to stand upright, said severely, — 

“ ]^ow, Nettie, what is the meaning of this?” 

“ The meaning of what?” 

“ Of your being here with Dick. I told you in the summer that 1 
didn’t approve of your being so friendly with him, and now I insist 
on knowing at once what you were doing with him.” 

“ Well, then, I sha’n’t tell you,” said Nettie coolly. 

” 1 say you shall, I couldn’t have believed that my sister would 


AN ENGLISH SQUIKE. 157 

be so unlady like. Just tell me how often you have met him, and 
what you were doing here?” 

“ It’s no business of yours,” said Nettie, making a sudden rush at 
the ladder; but Jack caught her, and a struggle ensued, in which 
of course he had the upper hand, though she was strong enough to 
make a considerable resistance; and he felt the absurdity of fighting 
with her as if she were a naughty child, when her offence was of 
such a nature. 

“Now, Neftie,” he said, in a tone that she could not resist. 
44 Stop this nonsense. I mean to have an answer. What has in- 
duced you to meet Dick Seyton in secret, and how often have you 
done so? You can’t deny that you have.” 

“No,” said Nettie, “1 have often, and 1 shall ever so many 
times more.” 

“ 1 couldn’t have believed it of you, Nettie,” said Jack, so seri- 
ously and so mildly that Nettie looked quite frightened, and then 
exclaimed — 

“ Jack, if you dare to venture to think that 1 meet Dick that we 
may make love to each, other, or any nonsense of that kind, I’ll — 
I’ll kill you— I’ll never speak to you again, never!” 

“ Why — why what else can 1 think?” said Jack, blushing, and 
by far the more shamefaced of the two. 

“ Well, then, it’s abominable and shameful of you. Do you 
think 1 would be so horrid? As if 1 ever meant to marry any one. 
I shall live with Bob.” 

“ Don’t be so violent, Nettie. You have acted very deceitfully.” 

“ Deceitfully! Do you think I’d tell you a story?” 

As Nettie had never been known to “ tell a story ” in her life, 
Jack could not say that he thought she would; but he replied — 

“You have acted deceitfully. You have run after Dick when we 
all thought you were somewhere else, and— there’s no use in being 
in a passion — but what do you suppose any one would think of a 
girl who behaved in such a manner?” 

Nettie blushed, but answered — 

“ I can’t help what any one thinks, Jack. 1 know I’m right, and 
1 must go on doing it.” 

“ Indeed you won’t,” said Jack angrily ; “ for unless you promise 
never to meet him any more, I shall tell rather at once ihat L found 
you here. What do you think Cherry would say to you?” 

“ Cherry w.ould say I was perfectly right, and would do exactly 
the same thing himself,” said Netlie, tnumphantly. ”1 am not 
doing any harm and I must go on. 1 can’t tell you why 1 am doing it, 
because 1 promised not, and I’ll do it nearer home if you like it 
better. Bob and 1 quarrelled about it many a time, he knows.” 

“ Oh, he knows, does he? What a fool he must have been to 
let you do it.” 

“He won’t tell of me,” said Nettie, “and he never did let me 
when lie was at home. But I am not a silly, horrid girl, Jack, 
whatever you think'; and I’m not flirting with Dick, nor — nor— en- 
gaged to him; and when — when— it’s right, I don’t mind people 
thinking so!” 

But this speech ended in a flood of tears, as poor Nettie’s latent 
maidenliness began to assert- it seifs 


158 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ And pray,” said Jack,“ does Dick come after you because it’s 
right ?” 

“ No— uo,” sobbed Nettie; “ because 1 make him.” 

“ And how can you make him, 1 should like to know?” 

Nettie made no answer but renewed tears. At last she sobbed 
out, “Oh, Jack, Jack, I wish you were Cherry!” 

“ 1 wish 1 were with all my heart,” said Jack. “ Would you 
tell me if 1 were Cherry?” 

“ No; but I know he would be kind, and not think me horrid.” 

“ Well, Nettie, I’ll try to bekiud; but you frighten me by all this 
Now just listen. I believe 1 ought to tell lather directly.” 

“Oh, Jack, dear Jack! Don’t, don’t— it would be dreadful! 
Don’t you believe me?” 

“ Yes,” said Jack, “ 1 believe you; but how do 1 know about a 
young scamp like Dick? You tell me the whole truth, and then 1 
can judge, or 1 shall tell my father this moment. You’re my sister, 
and 1 shall take care of you. You’ve done a thing that may be 
told against you ail your life, and nothing can make it right, say 
what you will.” 

“ But 1 can't tell you, Jack; I’ve promised.” 

“ Well, then, 1 shall have it out first with Dick.” 

“ Oh, Jack, everything will be undone then!” 

“ And pi ay, if you don’t care about him, why does it matter to 
you so much about him?” 

“ Indeed— indeed. Jack, I’m not in love with him in the least. 1 
never was with anybody, and 1 never mean to be,” said Nettie, fix- 
ing her great blue eyes full on Jack, and speaking with convincing 
eagerness. 

“ And how about him?” said Jack crossly. 

“ No, it’s nothing to do with it,” said Nettie; but the tone of her 
voice altered a little, and Jack had a sort of feeling that there was 
more in the matter tlan she herself knew, for he never thought ot 
disbelieving her. 

“Will you tell, and will you promise?” he said. 

“ No, 1 won’t,” said Nettie. 

“ Then you are a very naughty, disobedient girl, and you shall 
come home with me this minute.” 

“ I hate you, Jack. I ’.11 never forgive you,” said Nettie passion- 
ately, as she followed him, aud all the way home she sobbed and 
pouted, with an intolerable sense of shame, while Jack, utterly, puz- 
zled, walked by her side, a desire to horsewhip Dick Seytou con- 
tending in his mind with a dread of making a row. 

They came in by the back-door, and Nettie rushed upstairs at 
once; while Jack, virtuous and resolute, went into the study. 

Resolute as the girl was, she listened trembling, till her lather’s 
loud call of “ Nettie, Nettie, come here this moment!” brought her 
down to the study, where were her father, her grandmother, and 
Jack. 

“ Eh, what’s all this, Nettie?” said Mr. Lester. “ 1 can’t have 
you running about the country with young Beyton. What’s the 
meaning of it?” 

“ Papa,” said Nettie, “ 1 haven’t run about the country. Dick 
and I have got a secret; it’s a very good secret.” 


159 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

" "Wen, what is it, then?” said her father. 

“I don’t mean to tell. 1 never tell secrets,” said Nettie, with 
determination. “ We have had it a long time.” 

“My dear,” said Mr. Lester, much more mildly than he would 
have spoken to any of his boj's, “ I must put an end to it. You 
have been running wild with your brothers till you forget how big 
a girl you are getting. Never go out witlrDick again by yourself 
—do you hear?” 

Nettie made ho answer, and her father continued, more sternly — 

“1 am sorry, Nettie, that you did not know better how to be- 
have. Never let me hear of such a thing again.” 

Still silence; and Jack said — 

“ She won’t promise. I shall see what Dick says about it.” 

“ Then you’ll just do nothing of the sort, Jack,” said his grand- 
mother, “ making mountains out ot mole hills. Nettie is going to 
London to stay with her Aunt Cheriton, and have some music and 
French lessons with Dolly and Kate. I’d settled it all this morn- 
ing. She doesn’t attend enough to her studies here. You’ll take 
her up when you go to Oxford, and there’ll be an end ot the 
matter.” 

“ Yes, yes,” said Mr. Lester. “ Grandmamma and 1 were talk- 
ing it over just now.” 

“ Not that it is on account of your remarks, Jack,” said Mrs. Les- 
ter. “ That w T ould be making far too much of her foolish behavior; 
but in London she’ll learn better.” 

“ To be sure,” said Mr. Lester, who had been stopped on his way 
out riding by Jack’s appeal, and was now glad to escape from an 
unpleasant discussion. “ Nettie will come back at Christmas, and 
we shall hear no more of such childish tricks.” 

Nettie looked like a statue, and never spoke a word; but there 
was a look of fright through all her sullenness. Jack was* not ac- 
customed to think much of her appearance, but he knew as a mat- 
ter of fact she was handsome, and it struck him forcibly that she 
looked “ grown-up.” 

“ You’ve done more harm than you know,” she said; “ but 1 will 
not tell, and 1 will not promise.” And with a sort of dignity in 
her air, she walked out of the room. 

“ What does she mean?” said Jack. 

“ Never you mind,” said his grandmother, “ and don’t you ruise 
the country-side on her by saying a word to Dick or any one. Hold 
your tongue, and be thankful. The Seytons are the plague of the 
place, and we’ll ask them all to dinner before Nettie goes, Dick in- 
cluded.” 

“ Ask them to dinner?” said Jack. 

“ Yes; we’ll have no talk of a quarrel. And, besides, your father 
finds that people are apt to think that it was Virginia’s fault that 
yom half-brother left her in the lurch; and that’s not so, though 
she is a Seyton.” 

“No, indeed!” 

“ So my son means to have a dinner party, and to show that we 
are all good friends, and pay them proper attention. A bad lot they 
are: there’s not one of them to be trusted.” 


160 


AH ENGLISH SQUTRE. 

“ But, granny,” said Jack anxiously, “ wliat do you tliink about 
Nettie? What secret can she have?” 

“Eh, 1 can’t tell. He may be getting her a puppy or a creature 
of some kind; but Nettie’s secret may be one and Dick’s another. 1 
always blamed Cherry for encouraging the Seytons about the place.” 

“ Poor Cherry!’’ muttered Jack to himself, with a great longing 
to throw the burden of his difficulty on to Cherry’s shoulders. 

Nettie remained sullen and impenetrable. She treated Jack with 
an intense resentment that vexed him more than he could have sup- 
posed. Neither her father nor her grandmother asked her any 
questions; but she was watched, though not palpably in disgrace, 
and she suffered from an agony of shame and of self-reproach which 
contended strangely with the motive that in her view justified the 
stolen meetings. Whether tier 'womanly instincts, roughly awak- 
ened, justified the warnings given her, or whether she merely re- 
sented the unjust suspicion, she herself scarcely knew, and not tor 
worlds would she have explained her feelings. 'The dread of giving 
an advantage, the intense sulky self-respect that leads to an exag- 
geration of reserve and false shame, was in her nature as in that of 
all the Lesters, and if Cheriton had been. present she could not prob- 
ably have uttered a word to him. Being absent, she could venture 
to soften at the thought ot him, and cried for him many a time in 
secret. 


CHAPTER VI. 

BROKEN LINKS. 

“ Love is made a vague regret.” 

Virginia, when she parted from Jack, walked slowly homeward 
through the mist and the falling leaves, and thought of the bloom 
and the brightness of that fair Seville which she had so oflen pict- 
ured to herself. How happy the two brothers would be there to- 
gether, among all the surroundings which she had heard described 
so often. Alvar would never think of her. “At least, I should 
have had letters from him if 1 had not sent him away,” she thought; 
and though she did not regret the parting in the sense of blaming 
herself tor it, she felt in her utter desolation as if she would rather 
have had her lover cold and indifferent than not have him at all 
For life was so dreary, home to wretched, and Virginia could not 
mend it. Indeed in many ways a less high-minded girl with stronger 
spirits and more tact might have been far more useful there. Vir- 
ginia held her tongue resolutely; but she could not shut her eyes. 
She had lost l er bearings, and could not possibly understand the 
proportion of things. Thus even in hei inmost soul she never 
blamed her father for his life-long extravagance, tor the vague stories 
of his dissipated youth— these things were not for her to judge; but 
the conversation, which he intended to be perfectly fit for her ears, 
was full of small prejudices, small injustices, and trifles taken for 
granted that grated on her every hour. She tried very hard to be 
gentle and pleasant to her aunt; but she could not bring herself, as 
Ruth could, to laugh at scandalous stories, old or new, or even to 
think herself right in listening to them. And though her father and 


AH ENGLISH SQUIRE. 101 

aunt, so far as they knew how , respected her innocence, the -latter 
only laughed at the ignorance that thought one thing as bad as an- 
other. For there were virtues, or at least self-denials in their lives, 
for which, with all her love and with all her charity, she could not 
possibly credit them. It was something that Mr. Seyton had pulled 
through without utterly succumbing to debt and difficulty; it was 
something that when writhing under an injury which she never for- 
got or forgave, his sister stuck to him and kept things as straight as 
they were. Itlvas a godless, idle, aimless household, above stairs 
and below; but it was not a scaudalous one, and, with all the ante- 
cedents, it easily might have been. But the obvious outcome oL 
this hard narrow life was a deadness to all outer or higher interests, 
an ignorance of the ordinary views of society, and of modern forms 
of thought never attained save by selfish people, in absence of re- 
sfraintof temper, a delight m utter idleness, which were intensely 
wearing. Higher principles would have made life more interesting 
if nothing more* The narrowest form ot belief in religion and 
goodness would have given a wider outlook. Virginia was sick to 
death of tales of little local incidents spiced with ill-nature, or in- 
cessant complaints of someone’s ill-behavior about a fence or a cow. 
If she had lived at Oakbv she would have heard a good deal of the 
same sort of thing; but there there would have been something else 
to fall back on, and she would not have heard small triumphs over 
small overreaching which Mr. Seyton did not mix enough with his 
kind to hear commented on. 

Virginia used to wonder if she would grow like her aunt, her life 
was so empty. All her young-lad}' interests, the essay and drawing 
clubs, the correspondence and the art needle- wmrk, with which like 
other girls she had amused herself, had languished entirely during 
her engagement, and she did not. care to resume them. She would 
have liked to be a reso'urce- to Hick; but she was not used to boys, 
and had not much faculty for amusing them, and Dick did not care 
for her. Her Sunday class tired her, and were naughty because her 
leaching was languid; the children by no means offering the con- 
solations to her depression which they are sometimes represented as 
doing in fiction. The Ellesmeres, who were always kind to her, 
were away for their usual holiday, and the library books, tor which 
she subscribed, and which blight have amused her, could never by 
any chance be fetched from tne station when she wanted them. 

Her uncle showed his sympathy by scolding her roundly for fret- 
ting for a black-eyed foreigner, till she was almost too angry to 
speak to him. 

Under all these circumstances Kutli’s urgent invitation had been 
welcome, and as she received others from her friends at Littleton, 
she resolved to 20 and try to pick up the threads that Alvar had 
broken. Soon after she parted with Jack she met the parson, and 
told him what she knew would be welcome news, that Cherry was 
better. 

“ Ay,” said Mr. Seyton, “ Jack brought me a message from him 
that he would write me an account of a bull-fight. Wonder lie’s 
not ashamed to go near one. Cruel, unmanly sport — disgraceful!” 

“Well, uncle,” said Virginia, “ 1 think you ought to be pleased 
that Cherry is well enoughlo go.” 


162 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“Eh? I’ll ask him if he’ll come and see a cock-fight when he 
comes home. Plent}’ of ’em here — round the corner. So jou’re 
going to London to get a little color in your cheeks; 1 think it’s 
time.” 

“Yes, uncle; Mrs. Clement will teach the children while I’m 
away.” 

“ Very well, and tell Miss Ruth she was blind of one eye when 
she made her choice, but 1 can see out of both.” 

“ Uncle, 1 shouldn’t think of telling her such a thing. What do 
you mean?” 

“ Never mind, she’ll understand me. Good-b} r , my dear, and 
never mind the French. ” 

Virginia smiled, but she could not turn her thoughts away, not 
merely from Alvar, but from her life without him. Fain would she 
have refused the invitation which soon arrived to a solemn dinner- 
party at Oakby; but- it had been accompanied by a hint from Mr. 
Lester to her aunt which caused the latter to insist on accepting it, 
and they went accordingly to meet Sir .lolmand Lady Hubbard, and 
one or two other neighbors. Mr. Lester was markedly polite to 
Virginia. Mrs. Lester wore her best black velvet, and a certain 
diamond brooch, only produced on occasions of state. Jack looked 
proper, silent, and bored. Every one wished to ask after the univer- 
sally popular Cheriton, but felt that Alvar was an awkward subject 
of conversation, so that the adventures of the travelers could not be 
used, to enliven the dullness. Nettie did not of course appear at 
dinner, and afterward sat in a corner of the drawing-room in her 
white muslin, apparently determined not to open her mouth. Dick 
strolled up to her when the gentlemen came in, and was instantly 
followed by Jack, who stood by her silent and frowning. Nettie 
looked up under her eyebrows, and said, “Dick, I am going to 
London.” 

“ So I hear,” said Dick, with a smile and a slight shrug. 

“ 1 hate it, but I can’t help it. You go on.” 

Dick smiled again and nodded, and then looked at Jack with an 
air of secret amusement, indescribably provoking. “ All right,” be 
said, but he turned away and made no further demonstration; and 
Mrs. Lester desired Nettie to show Miss Hubbard “ Views on the 
Rhine,” a very handsome book reserved for occasions of unusual 
dullness. 

Altogether the evening’ did not raise Virginia’s spirits, and she 
was half inclined to resent the special kindness shown to her by Mr. 
Lester, as implying blame to his absent son. 

It was a wonderful chaUge of scene and circumstance, when she 
found herself, some few days later, sitting in Lady Charlton’s pleas- 
ant London drawing-room, full of books, work, plants, and pretty 
things, with Ruth, bright-eyed and blooming, sitting on the rug at 
her feet, ready for a confidential chatter. 

She was to be married directly after Christmas, she told Virginia. 
Rupert did not mean to sell out of the army; she did not at all dis- 
like the notion of moving about for a few years, and now the regi- 
ment was at Aldershot she could see Rupert often while* she remained 
in London to get her things. 

“And, Queenie, you must <?lioose the dresses for the bride- 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 163 

maids. Grandmamma will have a gay wedding. 1 think it will 
be a great bore.” 

“Your brid£maids ought to wear something warm ajid gay 
and bright, like yourself, Ruthie. Are you going to ask Nettie Les- 
ter?” * 

“ Oh, no!” said Ruth, hurriedly. “ Why should 1?” 

“ She is Rupert’s cousin, and she is so handsome.” 

“ I never thought of her! I am angry with them all since Don 
Alvar has made you miserable. My darling Queenie, 1 should like 
to stamp on him! Now, don’t be angry; but tell me how it all 
came about?” 

“ I don’t think I could ever make you understand it, Ruth. He 
did nothing wrong. It was only that — that I did not suit him, and 
1 found it out,” said Virginia, with a sort of ache in her voice, as 
she turned her head away. 

” The more— well, 1 won’t finish the sentence. Any way, he has 
spoiled your life for you; for 1 am afraid he is your love it you are 
not his,” said Ruth, scanning her sad face curiously. “ Queenie, 
weren’t you ready to kill him and Cherry, too, when they went off 
comfortably together?” 

“ No,” said Virginia, “ he could not help going — that was not it. 
And, as for Cherry, he was the only person who understood any- 
thing about it — he was so kind! Oh, I hope he is really better!” 

“ 1 dare say he is, by this time,” said Rulh, rather oddly; “ but 
they are all so easily frightened about him — they spoil him. I won 
der what they would all say if he tell in love with a naughty, wicked 
siren— a female villain, who broke his heart for him— just for fun.” 

“ She would break something worth having,” said Virginia in- 
dignantly. “ But, do you know anything about Cherry, Ruth?” 

” 1? 1 don’t believe in sirens who break hearts just for fun and 
vanity. And as for Cherry, if he did meet with a little trouble, he’d 
mend up again, heart and lungs and all. There’s something happy- 
go-lucky about him — don’t you think so?” 

” I think Cherry is too many-sided to be left without an object in 
life, if that is what you mean,” said Virginia. “ Besides, it is so 
different for a man, they can always do something.” 

Then Ruth put aside the little uneasy feeling of self-reproach and 
doubt that had prompted her to talk about Cherry, and put her 
arms round Virginia, kissing her tenderly. 

“ My darling Queenie! You have been fretting all by yourself at 
Elderth waite till things seem worse than they are"” 

“ No,” said Virginia; “ but my life has all gone wrong. When 
1 found that he did not love me everything seemed over for me.” 

Ruth interposed a question, and at last acquired a clearer knowl- 
edge of the circumstances under which Alvar and her cousin had 
parted. She had a good deal of knowledge of the world, and some 
judgment, though she did not always use it for her own benefit, and 
she did not think that the case sounded hopeless. She tried an ex- 
periment. 

“ If you gave him up, Queenie, because you discovered that he 
did not come up to your notions of what he ought to be, why 
there’s an end of it, for he never will; but it looks tome much more 
like a very commonplace lovers’ quarrel aggravated by circum- 


164 


AH ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

stances. He isn’t a bad sort of fellow in his own way; but it’s not 
the way that you think perfection.” 

“ 1 did not quarrel with him, and.l think the failure was* in my- 
self. Why should he love me?— it does not seem as if 1 was vory 
lovable.”/ 

There crossed Virginia’s young gentle face a look that was like a 
foretaste of the bitterness and self weariness that had seized on so 
many of her race — a sort of self -scorn that was not wholesome. 

” Why should you think so?” said Ruth. 

“ I t}iiuk I should have got on better at home it 1 had been.” 

She spoke humbly enough, but there was utter discouragement in 
every line of her face and figure. . 

“ Nonsense!” said Ruth briskly. “ Nobody would get ou, in 
your sense, at Elderthwaite. 1 don’t think you ought to stay there. 
You know it is quite in your power to arrange differently. You 
might make them long visits and— come fresh to every one.” 

** I’ll, never have it said thatlcould not live there,” said Virginia, 
coloring deeply. “ And it 1 was away — 1 could not — 1 would not — ” 

“ Go back into the neighborhood? Well, at any rate you are go- 
imr to have a holiday now, and see something besides moors and 
mud.” 

The change of scene could not fail to do Virginia good, though 
there might be something in the courtship of Ruth and Rupert to 
remind her, with a difference, of her own. It was sometimes breezy, 
for Rupert loved totease his betrothed, and having got his will, was 
a free and-easy and contented lover, not much liking to be put out 
of his way, and not quite coming up to Ruth’s requirements. 

Ruth, though very kind to her cousin, believed that she had lost 
her lover in a great measure through a feminine scrupulosity and 
desire to bring him up to her own standard. Ruth would never be 
so narrow and unsympathetic, she would be prepared to understand 
all the story of her hero’s life; and being young, and much more 
simple than she believed herself to be, thought that her indiscrimi- 
nate readiqg of somewhat free-spoken novels, gave her the neces- 
sary experience. But Rupert took quite another view. He was not 
aware of having any particular story to tell, and had no intention 
whatever of telling it. He did not in the least desire Ruth’s sym- 
pathy with his past, which was quite commonplace. He was not in 
a state of repentance, desirous of making a confession; nor had his 
heart ever been withered up bv any frightful experiences. No 
doubt he could remember much that was not particularly credita- 
ble, and which he rightly thought unfit for discussion with his be- 
trothed. Moreover, he did not care at all for poetry, and very little 
for novels, and at last actually told her that one she mentioned was 
unfit for her (o read.. 

Ruth was very angry, and had a sense of being put aside. Had 
Rupert— like herself — a secret, or was she going to be “ only a little 
dearer than his horse?” as she expressed it to herself, and with tears 
to him. Rupert laughed, and then grew a little angry, and then 
they made it up again ; but he teased her for her romance, laughed 
at her most muscular and strong-souled heroes, and never would 
put himself in a heroic attitude. Ruth quarreled with him, made it 


AX EXGLISH SQUIRE. 165 

up with him, was vexed by him, and sometimes was vexatious; but 
all the while she never told him about Cheriton. 


• CHAPTER VII. 

DON JUAN. 

“ I wonder if the spring-tide of this year 
Will bring another spring both lost and dear; I 

If heart and spirit will find out their spring, 

-Or if the world alone will bud and sing. 1 ’ 

It was a bright sunny day in December, fresh enough to make 
the Sevillanos pull their picturesque cloaks over their shoulders out 
of doors, and light scraps of wood-fire in their sitting-rooms, but 
witli the sun pouring down in unveiled splendor over quaint painted 
relics of a bygone faorld, when the Moor employed his rich fancy in 
decorating the city, and over dark Gothic arches and towers that 
seemed to tell of a life almost equally remote from nineteenth-cent- 
ury' England. It was a very new sort of Christmas weather for 
Jack Lester as he tried to find his way from the railway station to 
Don Guzman de la Rosa’s house. He soon discovered that he had 
lost it, and stopped by a fruit-stall piled with grapes, oranges, and 
melons to ask the brown, skinny old woman in a gay handkerchief 
who kept it, for some directions, hoping that she would at least un- 
derstand the name of the street. So she did, but it seemed to him 
that she pointed in every direction at once, and Jack stared round 
bewildered as a young lady stepped across the street toward the 
fruit-stall. Jack looked at her and she looked full at him from 
under her straw hat, with a pair of eyes dark as any in Andalusia, 
but direct and clear, level and fearless, as her face broke into a smile 
just saved from a laugh. 

“ If you are looking for Don Guzman de la Rosa’s,” she said in 
distinct and comprehensible English, “I can direct you; but your 
brothers, Mr. Lester, are much nearer, at my father’s, Mr. Stan- 
forth’s. Will you come there with me when 1 have bought some 
fruit?” 

“ Oh, thank you immensely! 1— I thought 1 would walk up, 
and 1 couldrr’t find the way. Thank you,” said Jack,, coloring and 
looking rather foolish. 

“ They did not expect you to be here till to-morrow. What have 
you done with your things?” 

“ I’ve lost them. Miss Stanforth,” said Jack; “ 1 can’t think how. 
You see no one understands anything, and the stations coming from 
Madrid are so odd.” 

“ Oh, 1 think you will get them; we had one box detained for 
ages. Thank you,” as he took her basket of fruit. “ Shall we 
come?” and then, looking up at him, ‘‘Your brother is so much 
better.” 

“ JL — I am very glad of that,” said Jack, in a sort of inadequate 
way. 

He was nervous about the meeting, and felt conscious that he was 
dusty with his journey, and sure that he must have looked foolish 
staring at the old woman. 


166 A N EtfGLISH SQUIRE. 

Gipsy took him down the street, and into a house with a balcony 
covered with say-striped blinds, and led him upstairs till she came 
to a door, or rather curtain, which she lifted, putting her finger on 
her lip. 

It was a long, low room, with the lights carefully arranged and 
shaded, containing drawing-boards and unframed sketches, a won- 
derful heap of “ art treasures/’ in one coiner, Algerine scarves and 
stuffs, great, rough, green pitchers, and odds and ends of color. 
Some One sat with his back to the door drawing, but Jack only be- 
held his brothers who were together at the further end of the room, 
and did not immediately see him, tor they were looking at each 
other and appeared to the puzzled Jack oddly still and silent. 

Miss Stanforth gave a little laugh and Alvar looked round and 
exclaimed. Cheriton sprung up, and with aery of delight seized 
on Jack, with an outbuist of greetings and inquiries, in which all 
the surroundings were forgotten. Gipsy laughingly described her 
encounter to Alvar; while “father,” and “granny,” “the old 
parson,” “no good in having a Christmas at all at home without 
you,” passed rapidly between the other two. 

“ Come, Jack, that’s strong! But, indeed, I think you have 
brought Christmas here. How rude we are! You have never 
spoken to Mr. -Stanforth. Mr. Stanforth, let him see the picture. 
Jack, do you think lather will like it?” 

“Yes. You look much jollier than in the photograph,” said 
Jack, as Mr. Stantorth turned the picture round for his inspection. 

It was a small half-length in tinted chalk showing Cherry seated 
and looking up, with a bright interested face, at Alvar, who was 
showing him a branch of pomegranates. The execution was of the 
slightest, but the likenesses were good, and the strong contrast of 
coloring and resemblance of form was brought out well. ‘ ‘ Brothers, ” 
was written underneath, and Jack looked at them as if the idea of 
any one wishing to make studies of them was strange to him. 

“ Jack is bewildered — lost, in more senses Ilian one,” said Cherry, 
smiling. “Come, it is time we went home, and then for jiews of 
every one! Mr. Stanforth, we shall see you to-night.” 

Jack’s arrival was an intense pleasure to Cheriton, whose reviv- 
ing taculties were beginning to long tor their old interests He had 
recovered his natural spirits, and though he still looked delicate, 
and had no strength to spare, was quite well enough to look for- 
ward to his return to England and to beginning life there. . Indeed 
the ardent hopes and ambitiofis, so cruelly checked in their first 
outlet, turned— with a difference indeed, but with considerable 
force — to the desire ot distinction and success; and in return for 
Jack’s endless talk ot home and Oxford, he planned the course ot 
study to begin at Easter, and the hard work which he felt suie 
with patience must insure good fortune.* Cheriton was very san- 
guine, and since he had felt so much better, had no doubt of entire 
recovery; and Jack was accustomed to follow his lead, and was 
much relieved both by his liveliness and by his resolute mention of 
Rupert, and inquiry as to the arrangements for his marriage. 

If Cheriton had not won the battle, he .was at least holding his 
own in it bravely — the bitter pain was first submitted to, and then 
held down with a strong hand. But surely, he thought, there wf^s 


AK EHGL1SH SQUIRE. 167 

something in store for him, if not the sweetness of happy love, yet 
tiie ardor of the struggle of life. 

He could uot say enough of Alvar’s care for him, and Jack found 
Alvar much more easy of access than at home, and more interested 
than he had expected in the details of the home life; and in the course 
of conversation the dinner-party to the Seytons, and its motive, 
came* out. 

Alvar colored deeply ; he was silent then, but as soon as he was 
alone wilh (Jheriton, he said, with some hurry of manner — 

“ My brother, I am ashamed. What can 1 do? ll is not endura- 
ble to me that any one should blame Miss Sey'ton.” 

“ I suppose my father did the only thing there was to be done. 
When an engagement is broken people generally say that there were 
faults on both sides.” 

“ That is not so,” said Alvar. “ She is as blameless as a lily. 
Can 1 do nothing? 1 am ashamed,” he repeated vehemently. 

“ Perhaps when you go home you will be able to show the world 
that you are of a different opinion,” said Cherry very quietly, but 
with difficulty suppressing a smile. 

“ You do not understand,” said Alvar in a tone of displeasure, 
turning away, and; thinking that he had never before known Cheri- 
ton so unsympathetic. 

Jack did not make much way with the De la "Rosas, he did not 
like committing himself to foreign languages, and was shy, but 
they were very polite to “ Don Juan,” a name that so tickled Clieri- 
ton’s fancy that he adopted it at once. 

Jack began by somewhat resenting his brother’s intimacy with 
the Stanforths as a strange and unnecessary novelty, but he soon 
fell under the charm, and pursued Mr. Stanforth with theories of 
art which were received with plenty of good-humored banter. 
Gipsy, too, set to work to enlighten him on (Spanish customs; and 
having rescued him from one difficulty, made it her business to show 
him the way he should go, so that they became very friendly, and 
the strange Christmas in this foreign country drew the little party 
of English closer together. There was enough Jo interest them in 
the curious and picturesque customs of Andalusia, but the carols 
which Gipsy insisted on getting up gave Cherry a fit of home-sick- 
ness; and a" great longing for Oakby, and the holly and the snow, 
the familiar occupations, the dogs, ant? the skating, came over him. 
It had been a long absence; he thought how his' father would be 
wishing for him, and he experienced that sudden doubt of the fut- 
ure which people call presentiment. Would he ever spend Christ- 
mas at home again? He was beginning to weary a little of the won- 
der and admiration that had stood him in such good stead, and to 
want the time-honored landmarks which showed themselves un- 
changed as the flood-.tide of passion subsided. 

He was quite ready, however, to enter into the plans for a tour 
through some of the neighboring towns before the Stanforths should 
return home at the end of January. Jack’s time was still shorter: 
and as Cheriton himself had hitherto seen nothing but Seville, a 
joint expedition was proposed, with liberty to separate whenever it 
was convenient, as Alvar would consent to nothing that involved 


168 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

Cherry in long days on horseback lasting, after sundown, or in extra 
rough living; ana Mr. Stauforth backed up his prudent counsels. 

But Cordova, Granada, and Malaga could be managed without 
any extreme fatigue, and Ronda could be reached easily from the 
latter place. So in the first week in the new year the three Lesters, 
Mr. Stanforlh and his daughter, and Miss Weston set oft together 
for a fortnight’s trip. Afterward they would all separate, and Al- 
var and Cheriton, after returning for a few weeks to Seville, were 
to make their way gradually northward, stopping in France and 
Italy till the spring was further advanced. 

The tour prospered, and in due time they found themselves at 
Ronda, and strolling out together in the lovely ailernoon sunshine, 
reached the new bridge across the river; Jack and Gipsy engaged 
in an endless discussion on the expulsion of the Moors, lingering 
while they talked, and looking down into the deep volcanic chasm 
that divides the old town of Ronda from the new, while nearly 
three hundred feet below them roared, dashed, and sparkled the 
silveiy waters of the Guadalvin. On either side were the pictur- 
esque buildings of the two towns, fringed with wood— in the front, 
miles of orchards, and beyond, the magnificent snow-crowned mount- 
ains of the Sierra; while over all was the sapphire blue, and sun, 
which though the year was but a fortnight old, covered the ground 
with jonquils, and hung the woods with lovely flowers hardly 
known to our hot-houses. 

They had marveled at the Alhambra, and Cheriton had disclaimed 
all sense of feeling himself in the Crystal Palace. They had noticed 
and admired the mixture of Moorish and Christian art in Granada 
and Cordova, and had discussed ardently all the difficult questions 
of the Moorish occupation and expulsion— discussions in which 
Gipsy’s fresh school knowledge, and Jack’s ponderous theories, 
had met in many a hearty conflict. They had sketched, made notes, 
collected curiosities, or simply enjoyed the beauty according to 
their several idiosyncrasies, anti had remained good friends through 
all the ups and downs of travel; while Cheriton had stood the fa- 
tigue so well that he had set his heart on riding with the others 
across country to Seville, and could afford to laugh at the discom- 
forts incidental to eating and sleeping at Ronda. There was much 
to see there, and they did not mean to hurry away. Cherry re- 
marked to Alvar that Jack had improved, and was less sententious 
than he used to be; but the cause of this increased geniality had 
struck no one. Every one laughed when Gipsy reminded him of 
things that he had forgotten; talked Spanish for him because he was 
too shy to commit himself to an unknown tongue, and stoutly con- 
tradicted many of his favorite sentiments. Writing an essay, was 
he? — on the evil of regarding everything from a ludicrous point of 
view. There were a great many cases in which that was the best 
point of view to look at things, and Gipsy wrote a counter essay 
which afforded great amusement. But no one perceived when 
Gipsy’s sense of the ludicrous fell a little into abeyance; and when 
she ceased to contradict Jack flatly, and began to think that she re- 
ceived new ideas from him, still less did his brothers dream of the 
new thoughts and aspirations that were rushing confusedly through 
the boy’s mind; he was hardly conscious of them himself. 


AX ENGLISH SQUIRE. 169 

The pair were a little ahead of their companions, who now came 
up and joined them. 

“ Well, Jack,” said Alvar, “ 1 have been making inquiries, and I 
find that we can take the excursion among the mountains that you 
wished for. Mr. Stanforth prefers making sketches here, and it 
would be too rough for the ladies, or for Cherry.” 

“ 1 suppose the mountains are very fine?” said Jack, not very 
energetically. 

“ Jack found the four hundred Moorish steps too much for him. 
He has grown lazy,” said Cherry. “ For my part, I think the fruit 
market is the nicest place here; it has such a splendid view. I shall 
go there to morrow and eat melons while you are away.” 

“ Miss Weston and I are jroing to buy scarves and curiosities in 
I he market,” said Gypsy; “ but they say we should have come here 
in ‘May to see the great fair; that is the time to buy beautiful 
things.” 

“Yes,” said Alvar “and Mr. Stanforth might have studied all 
the costumes of Andalusia. But, 1 think, since we ordered our din- 
ner two hours ago, it is likely now to be ready. 1 hope the ladies 
are not tired of fried pork, for 1 do not think we shall get anything 
better. ’ ’ 

“Oh!” said Gipsy, “ 1 mean to get mamma to introduce it at 
home; it is so good.” 

“ Do you, my dear?” said her father. “ 1 am inclined to think 
that with the ordinary accompaniments of clean table-cloths and 
silver forks it might be disappointing.” 

Without a table-cloth and with the very primitive implements of 
Ronda, the fried pork was very welcome; and when their dinner 
was over, as it was tpo dark to go out any more, they Went down 
into the great public room on the ground-floor ol the inn, where 
round a bright wood fire were gathered muleteers, other travelers 
and natives, both men and women. 

It was a wonderful picturesque scene in the light of the fire, and 
Mr. Stanforth ’s sketching so delighted his subjects that they crowded 
round him, only anxious that he should draw them all, while the 
“ English hidalgos ” were objects of the greatest curiosity. The 
men came up to Jack and Cheriton, examining their clothes, their 
tobacco pouches and pipes; and one great fellow in a high hat, and 
brilliant-colored shirt, looking so much like an ideal brigand that it 
was difficult to believe that he was only an olive-grower, after look- 
ing at Cheriton for some time, put out a very dirty hand, and 
touched his hair and cheek as if to assure himself that they were of 
Ihe same substance as his own. Gipsy’s dress and demeanor in- 
terested them greatly, and one or two of them made her write her 
name on a bit of paper for them to keep. 

The next day’s ride was fully discussed, and much information 
given as to route and destination. Then, at Cherry’s request, some 
of the muleteers sung to them wild half -melancholy airs, and one of 
the men danced a species of comic dance tor their edification, and 
then the chief musician diffidently requested them to give a speci- 
men of their national music. Gipsy laughed and looked shy; but 
her father laid down his pencil, and in a fine voice, and with feel- 
ing that told even in an unknown language, sung “ Tom Bowling,” 


170 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


^nd then, as this gave great satisfaction, began “ D’ye ken John 
Peel,” in the chorus of which his companions joined him. 

“ That,” he exclaimed, “ was a hunting song. Now he would 
give them a really national air;” and in the midst of this strange 
audience he struck ud the familiar notes of “ God save the Queen.” 

The English rose to their feet; the men lifted their hats, and all 
joined in and sung the old words with more patriotic fervor than at 
home they might have thought themselves capable of; and the 
Spaniards, with quick wit and ready courtesy, uncovered also, and 
when they had tinished the musician picked out the notes on his 
guitar. 

The weather next morning proving all that could be wished, 
Alvar and Jack, with a couple of guides, set off before day-break 
on their ride into the mountains, intending to ascend on foot a cer- 
tain peak from which the view was very fine, and which was acces- 
sible in the winter. The expedition had been entirely planned tor 
Jack’s benefit, and perhaps he was not quite so grateful as he might 
have been. The others had no lack of occupation. They went 
down to Ihe “ Nereid’s Grotto,” a cave filled with clear emerald 
water, near which stands an old Moorish mill, built on rocks, 
fringed with masses of maiden-hair fern. Mr. Stanfortli remained 
there sketching the building, white with a sort of dazzling eastern 
whiteness, the strange forms of cactus and aloe crowning the cliffs, 
and the washerwomen in gay handkerchiefs and scarlet petticoats 
kneeling on the fiat stones by the river. Cheriton, with the ladies, 
went on their shoppng expedition to find presents that might be 
sent home by Jack, and having found some silk handkerchief’s for 
his father, a wonderful sash for Nettie, and a striped rug for bis 
grandmother, to whom Alvar intended to despatch some Spanish 
lace already bought in Seville, he helped Gipsy to choose a present 
for each of her numerous brothers and sisters, and himself hunted 
up smaller offerings for his friends of all degrees. 

This occupied a long time, especially as the children followed 
them wherever they went, “as if one was the pied piper,” said 
Cherry; and afterward they bought bread and fruit, and ate it for 
luncheon, and Gipsy reflected that in three weeks’ time she would 
be back in Kensington, very busy and rather gay, and would prob- 
ably never buy pomegranates and melons in Ronda again in all her 
life. 

Cheriton employed himself in the evening in writing to his father, 
while the St anf orth's went down again to the mixed company be- 
low. be did not expect his brothers till late, and was not giving 
much heed to the time, when he looked up and saw Gipsy cross the 
room. 

1 “ Have they come back?” he said. 

“No,” said Gipsy. “ Don’t you think they ought to be here 
soon?” 

Cherry glanced at his watch. 

“ Nine o’clock? Yes, 1 suppose they will be here directly, for 
the guides told us eight. People never get oft mountains as soon 
as they expect they will. I'll come down. 1 have finished my' 
letter.” 

Borne time longer passed without any sign of an arrival, and the 


AH EKGLISH SQUIRE. 171 

landlord of the inn, and some ot the muleteers, began to say that 
either the Ingleses must have changed their route, or that some- 
thing must have detained them till it was too dark to get down the 
mountains, so that they must be waiting till daylight to descend. 
Cheriton did not take alarm quickly; he knew that a very trifling 
change *ot path or weather would make this possible, and he was 
the first to say that they had better go to bed, and expect to see the 
wanderers in the morning; and Mr. Stanforth, very anxious to 
avoid frightening him, chimed in with a cheerful augury to the 
same effect. But when Cheriton had left them he said, anxiously — 

“I don’t like it; lam sure ADar would not delay if he could 
help it— he would not cause so much anxiety.” 

”But some very trifling matter might have detained them till 
after dark,” said Miss Weston. 

“ Oh, yes; 1 trust it may be so.” 

Gipsy said nothing; but before her mind’s eye there rose a vision 
of more than one little wayside cross which she had been shown on 
their ride to Honda, with the inscription, “ Here died Don Louis or 
Don Pedro,” and the date. 

These were erected, she w r as told, where travelers had been killed 
by salteadores or brigands; but there were very few of such breakers 
of the law in Andalusia now. Still, their party had thought it 
right to carry aims. What it they had been driven to use them? — 
what it—? Even to herself Gipsy could not finish the sentence; 
but she lay awake all night listening for an arrival, till her ears ' 
ached and burned with the strain; till she heard in the' night-time 
that had hitherto seemed to her so silent, sounds innumerable; till 
she felt as if she could have heard their footsteps on the mountain 
side. And all the time the worst ot it was that she heard nothing. 
And for fear that Miss Weston would guess at her terror, for speak- 
ing of it seemed to remove it from the vague regions of her imagina- 
tion and give it new 7 force, and also tor fear of missing a sound, she 
lay as still as a mouse, till, spite of an occasional doze, the night 
seemed endless, and the most welcome thing in the world was the 
long-delayed winter dawn. 

Gipsy was thankful to get up and dress and find out what w r as 
going on, and as soon as possible she ran down-stairs and went out 
to the front of the inn. Her father was just before her, and Cheri- 
ton was standing talking to a group of guides and muleteers. He 
turned round and came up to them saying — 

“ 1 have been making inquiries, and they say that if they kept to 
their intended route — and 1 leel sure that they would not change it 
— there is no reason to tear any dangerous accident such as one 
hears of on Swjss mountains. And the men all laugh at the notion 
of any brigandage nowadays. What 1 think is, that one of them 
may have got some slight hurt, twisted his foot, for instance, and 
been unable to get on ; and if they don’t turn up in an hour or so I 
think we ought to go after them.” 

Cherry looked anxiously at Mr. Stanforth as he spoke, as if, having 
woiked up this view for his own benefit, he wanted to see others 
convinced by it also. 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Stanforth, “ I have been thinking of the possi- 
bility of strained ankles too.” 


172 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ You see,” said Cherry, “ they must have left their mules some- 
where; at least we shall fall iu with them.” 

“ Ah — ah! they are coming,” cried Gipsy, with a scream of joy, 
as the sound of hoofs were heard along the street. 

Cherry dashed forward, but as the party came into sight he 
stopped suddenly, then hurried on to meet them; for only Pedro, 
one of the mule-drivers who had accompanied them, appeared, 
riding one mule and leading the other. 

In the sudden downfall, Gipsy’s very senses seemed to fail liei; 
as she saw Cherry lay his hand on the mule as if to support him- 
self, and look up, unable to frame a question; she could hardly 
hear the confusion of voices that followed. 

Soon, however, she gathered that no terrible news had come— no 
news at all. Don Alvar and Don Juan had ascended the mountain 
with their guide Jose, and had never returned; and, after waiting 
for their descent in the early morning, Pedro had come back with- 
out them. What could have happened? Ihey might have gone a 
long way round, in fact a three days’ route — there was no other, or 
they might have fallen from a precipice. 

“ In snort, you know T nothing about them. We must ^o and 
see,” interrupted Cherry, briefly; “at least, 1 will. What mules 
have you? Who is the best guide now in Ronda?” 

“ My dear boy,” said Mr. Stan forth gently and reluctantly, “ you 
must not try the mountain yourself. You know it must be done 
on foot, and the fatigue—” 

“ How dan 1 think of that now? What does it matter?” said 
Cherry, with the roughness of excessive pain. “ It is far worse to- 
wait.” 

“ Yes, but depend upon it, they Are as anxious as you are. Cer- 
tainly 1 shall go, and the guides; but, you see, speed is an object.” 

“Oh, 1 shouldn’t cough and lose my breath now ! ” said Cherry. 
“ Indeed, 1 can walk up hill.” 

Mr. Stanfortli could hardly answer him, and he went on vehe- 
mently — 

“You know Alvar is much too fidgety; he thinks I can do noth- 
ing. But, at least, let us all ride to the foot of the mountain; per- 
haps we shall meet them yet.” 

“Yes, that at any rate we will do. Give your orders, and then 
come and get some chocolate.” 

Miss Weston had taken care that this was ready, and Cherry sat 
down and ate and drank, trying to put a good face on the matter 
before the ladies. 

After they started on their ride he was very silent, and hardly 
spoke a word till they came to the little inn where the mules had 
been left the day before. Then he said very quietly to Mr. Stan- 
forth — 

“ Perhaps 1 had better wait— 1 might hinder you.” 

“I thinK it would be best,” said Mr. Stanforth, with merciful 
absence of comment, tor he knew what the sense of incapacity must 
have been to Cherry then. 

The kindest thing was to start on the steep ascent at once. Miss 
Weston, in what Gipsy thought a cold-blooded manner, took out her 
drawing materials, and sat down to sketch the mountain peaks. 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. * 173 

Cheriton started from his silent watch of the ascending party, and 
asked Gipsy to take a little walk with him; and as she gladly came 
they gathered plants and talked a little about the view, showing 
their terror by their utter silence on the real object of their thoughts. 
Then he exerted himself to get some lunch for them: so that the 
first hours of the day passed pretty well. But as the afternoon wore 
on he sat down under a great walnut-tree, and watched the mount- 
ain— the great pitiless creature with its steep bare sides and snowy 
summits. He gave no outward sign of impatience, only watched 
as if he could not turn his eyes away, and Miss Weston, almost as 
anxious for him as for the missing ones, thought it best to leave 
him to follow his own bent. 

No one was anxious about poor Gipsy, who wandered about, 
running out of sight in the vain hope of seeing something oh the 
bare hill-side on her return. 

At last, just as the wonderful violet and rose tints of the sunset 
began to color the white peaks, Cheriton sprung to his feet, and 
pointed to the hill side, where, far in the distance, were moving 
figures. 

“ Haw many?” he said, for in the hurry of their start, they had 
left the field-glasses, which would have brought certainty a little 
sooner, behind. 

“ Oh, there are surely a great many,” said Gipsy. 

Cheriton watched with the keen sight trained on his native moor- 
lands; while the ladies counted and miscounted, and thought they 
saw Jack’s white puggerv. 

“ No,” said Cherry, “ there are only Mr. Stan forth and the two . 
guides. 1 can not wait,” he added, impetuously, and began to hurry 
up the hill till he stopped perforce for want of breath. 

“ There can have been no accident; we have found no one— noth- 
ing whatever,” cried Mr. Stanforth, as soon as he' came within 
speaking distance. “They must have gone the other, way; there is 
no trace.” 

lie spoke in a tone of would-be congratulation, but an ominous 
whisper passed amongst the guides, bandidos, and the utter blank 
was almost more terrifying than direct ill news. 

“ We must go back to Ronda, and see what can be done to- 
morrow.” 

“ But,” said Cherry, rather incoherently, “ 1 don’t know — you see, 

1 must take care of Jack.” 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Stanforth, “ but any little detention would not 
hurt either of them, and they must not find that you are knocked 
up. We can consult the authorities at Ronda.” 

“Yes, thank you; 1 hope you are not overtired,” said Cherry, 
half-dreamily. “ 1? oh, no; 1 am quite well; but 1 can’t help being 
anxious.” 

“ No, it is very perplexing; but 1 feel quite hopelessof good news 
myself,” said Mr. Stanforth. 

But somehow the necessity of this assurance struck a sharper 
pang to Cherry’s heart than his own vague forebodings. 


174 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE, 


CHAPTER V ITI. 

CIYIS HOMAN US SOM. 

“ The mightiest of all peoples under Heaven!” 

“ 1 tell you, } 7 ou stupid, blundering blockheads, that he is my 
brother; and we are Englishmen, and we know nothing whatever 
of } r our Carlist brigands, or whoever they are! We are British sub- 
jects, and you had better let us go, or the British Government will 
know the reason why,” thundered Jack Jester, in exceedingly bad 
Spanish, interspersed with English epilhets, at the top of his voice. 

“ Gentlemen, it is true; our passports are at Ronda; conduct us 
thither, if you will. We are traveling for pleasure only, and have 
no concern with any political matters at all,” said Alvar, in far more 
courteous accents. 

The scene was the mountain side, the time evening, and Alvar 
and Jack were just beginning their descent, when they were con- 
fronted by an official, and surrounded by a small troop of soldiers 
in the government uniform. They had been suddenly encountered 
and stopped, arid desired to produce their passportB, and, these not 
being forthcoming, their account of themselves was met with civil 
incredulity, and they were desired to consider themselves under 
arrest. 

“But — don’t you see that you’re making an utter fool of your- 
self,” shouted Jack, in a fury. “ I tell you this gentleman is my 
brother, and we are the sons of Mr. Lester, of Oakby Hall, West- 
moreland, and have nothing to do with your confounded Carlists. 
I’ll knock the first fellow down—” 

“ Hush, Jack ! Keep your temper,” whispered Alvar, in English. 
“Senor, 1 am the grandson of Senor Don Guzman de la Rosa, of 
Seville, well known as a friend to the government, and this is my 
half brother from England.” 

“ One of the De la Rosa, senor, is exactly what we know you to 
be; but as tor this extraordinary falsehood by which you call your- 
self an Englishman — and the brother of this gentleman — why, you 
make matters worse for yourselves for attempting it.” , 

“ Ask the guide,” said Alvar. 

“Ah, doubtless; the fellow was known as having been engaged 
in the late war. Come, senores, you may as well accompany me in 
silence.” 

“ Will you send a message by the direct route to Ronda, asking 
for our passports, and informing our friends of our safety?” said 
Alvar. 

No, informing their friends was the last thing wished for. In 
the morning they would see. 

“ Do not resist, Jack,” said Alvar; “ it is quite useless; we must 
come.” 

“ Don’t you hear he is talking English to me?” said Jack as a last 
appeal, and, of course, a vain one. 


175 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“Iam sure they haven’t got a magistrate’s warrant,” said Jack, 
as his alpenstock was taken away from him, and, closely guarded, 
he was made to precede Alvar down the hill, in a state of offended 
dignity and incredulous indignation. He was very .angry, but not 
at all frightened; it was incredible that any Spanish officials should 
hurt him. Indeed, as he cooled down a little, the adventure might 
l ave been a good joke, but for the certainty that Cherry would be 
imagining them at the botfom of a precipice. 

* After walking for some way along a different road from the one 
they had come by, they stripped at a little wayside tavern, w^iere 
they were given to understand that they were to pass the night. 

“But it’s impossible; they can't keep us here,” cried Jack. 
“ Isn’t there a parish priest, or a magistrate, or a policeman, or some 
one to appeal to?” 

“No one could help us,” answered Alvar. “1 do not think 
there is anything to be afraid of for oursei^es; we can easily prove 
Brat we are English when we get to some town; it is of Cherry that 
1 think — he will be so frightened.” 

“ You don’t think they’ll go and take him up?” 

“ Oh, no; I hope they will send to Honda tor our pasports in the 
morning. But, Jack, do not liy in a passion. We must be very 
civil, and say we are quite willing to be detained in the service of 
the government.” 

“ I’m hanged if 1 say anything of the serf,” muttered Jack, whose 
prominent sensation was rage at the idea that he, an Englishman, a 
gentleman : a man with an address, and a card — though he had un- 
luckily left it at home— should be subjected to such an indignity, 
stopped in his proceedings by a dozen trumpery Spaniards! 

Alvar was not so full of a sense of the liberty of the subject ; he 
felt sure that he was mistaken for Manoel, and more than suspected 
that the government might have been justified in detaining his 
cousin. He did not, however, wish to confide this to Jack, of 
whose prudence he was doubtful, and knew that if the worst came 
to the worst, his grandfather could get them out of the scrape. 

There might be no danger, but it was very uncomfortable, and 
provisions being scarce in the emergency, the captain— who looked 
much more like a bandit than an officer — gave his prisoners no 
supper but a bit of bread. Alvar was Spaniard euough to endure 
the fasting, but Jack, after his day of mountaiu climbing, was ready 
to eat bis fingers off with hunger; and as the hours wore on, began 
really to feel sick, wretched, and low-spirited, and though lie pre- 
served an unmoved demeanor, to wonder inwardly what his father 
would say if he knew where lie was, and to remember that the 
Spaniards were a cruel people and invented the Inquisition! And 
then he wondered if Gipsy was thinking of him. 

Moreover, it was very cold, and they were of course tired to begin 
with, so that, when at length the morning dawned, Alvar was 
startled to see how little Jack looked to Cheriton after a bad night, 
and made such representations to the captain that Englishmen could 
not bear cold and hunger, that he obtained a fair share of bread and 
a couple of onious— provisions which Jack enjoyed more than he 
would have done had he guessed what Alvar had said to procure 
them. 


176 AN ENGLISH. SQUIRE. 

“I’m up to anything now,” he said. “ If they would only let us 
put a note in the post for Cherry, it would be rather a lark after all. ” 

“ 1 do not know where you will find a po*st-office,” said Alvar 
disconsolately, as they were marched of! in an opposite direction to 
Honda. “ If Cheny only does not climb that mountain to look for 
us!” 

“ 1 should like to set this country to rights a little,” said Jack. 

“ That,” said Alvar dryly, “ is what many have tried to do, but 
they have not succeeded.” ♦ 

The prisoners were very well guarded, and though Alvar made 
more than one attempt to converse with the captain, he got scarcely 
any answer. Still, from the exceedingly curious glances with which 
he Regarded them, Alvar suspected that he was not quite clear in 
his own mind as to their identity. After a long day’s march they 
struck down on a small Moorish-looking town, called Zahara, built 
dbeside a wide, quick -lushing river. 

And now Alvar’s hopes rose, as here resided an acquaintance of 
his grandfather, a noted breeder of bulls, who knew him well, and 
had once seenOheriton at Seville. Beside, the authorities of Zahara 
might be amenable to reason. 

However, they could get no hearing that night, and were shut up 
in what Jack called the station-house, but which wag really a round 
Moorish tower with horseshoe arches. Here Alvar obtained a piece 
of paper, and they concocted a full description of themselves, their 
traveling companions, and their destination, which Alvar signed with 
his full name, — 

“Alvaro Guzman Lester, 

Of . Westmoreland, England .” 

and directed to El Senor Hon Luis Pavieco, Zahara, and this he de- 
sired might be given to the local authorities. He also tried hard, 
but in vain, to get a note sent to Honda. 

They hoped that the early morning might produce Don Luis, but 
they saw nothing of any one but the soldier who brought them their 
food, which was still of the poorest. 

Alvar’s patience began to give way at last; he walked up and 
down the room. 

“ Oh, 1 am mad when I think of my brother!” he exclaimed 
“ My poor Gkerilon. What he will suffer!” 

“ Don't you think they’ll let us out soon?” said Jack, who had 
subsided into a sort of glum despair. 

“ Gh, they will wait — and delay — and linger. It drives me mad!” 
he repeated vehemently, and throwing himself into a seat he hid his 
face in his arms on the table. 

“ Well,” said Jack, “it’s dogged as does it. I wish 1 hadn’t 
used up all my tobacco though.” 

Early the next morning their door w r as opened at an unusual hour, 
and they were summoned into a sort of hall, where they found “ el 
Capitan,” another officer in a respectable uniform, and, to Alvar’s 
joy, Don Luis Pavieco himself 

The thing was ended with ludicrous ease. Don Luis bowed to 
Alvar, and turning to the officer, declared that Don Alvar Lester was 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


177 


perfectly, well known to him, and that the other gentleman was 
certainly his half-brother and an Englishman. The officer bowed 
also, smiled, hoped that they had not been incommoded; it was a 
slight mistake. 

“Mistake!” exclaimed Jack; “and pray, Alvar, what’s the 
Spanish for apology— damages?” 

Alvar turned a deaf ear, and bowed and smiled with equal polite- 
ness. 

“ He had been sure that in due time the slight mistake would be 
rectified. Were they now free to go?” 

“ Yes;” and Don Luis interposed, begging them to come and get 
some breakfast with him while their norses could be got ready. 
Their guide? — oh, he was still detained on suspicion. 

“ Well,” ejaculated Jack, “ they are the coolest hands. Incom- 
moded! I should think we have been incommoded indeed!” 

In the meantime no hint of how matters had really gone -reached 
the anxious hearts at Ronda. The authorities had scouted the idea 
of brigands, and had revealed the existence of a dangerous ravine, 
some short distance from the mountain path. Doubtless the darkness 
had overtaken them, and they had been lost. The guides declared 
that nothing was more unlikely, as it was hardly possible to reach 
the ravine from the path; the rocks were so steep. A search w T as 
however made by some of the most active, it need not be said, in 
vain. Cheriton, afterward, never could bear a reference to those days 
and nights of suspense— suspense lasting long enough to change the 
hope of good tidings into the dread of evil tidings, till he feared 
rather than longed for the sounds for which his whole being seemed 
to watch. 

Nothing could exceed Mr. Stanforth’s kindness to him, and he 
held up at first bravely, and submitted to his friend’s care. On the 
third morning they resolved that Don Guzman should be written 
to, and Cherry, who had been wandering about in an access of rest- 
less misery, tried to begin the letter; but he put down the pen, turn 
ing faint and dizzy, and unable to frame a sentence. 

“ I can not,” he said faintly. “ 1 can not see.” 

“You must lie down, my dear boy; you have had no rest. I 
will do it.” 

“My father, too,” Cheriton said, with a painful effort at self* 
control. “ 1 think— tliere’§ no chance, I must try to do it; but— oh 
—Jack— Jack!” 

lie buried his face on his arms with a sob that seemed as it it 
would tear him to pieces. 

“You must not write yet to your father,” said Mr. Stanforth. 
“ 1 do not give up hope. Courage, my boy!” 

Suddenly a loud scream rang through the house, and an outburst 
of voices, and one raised joyously — 

“ My brother — my brother— are you here? — we are safe!” and as 
Cherry started to his feet Alvar, followed by Jack, rushed into the 
room, and clasped him in his arms. 

“ Safe! yes, the abominable, idiotic brutes of soldiers! But we’re 
all right, Cherry. You mustn’t mind now.” 

“Yes, we are here, and it is over.” 


178 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ "thank Heaven for His great mercy!” cried Mr. Stan forth, al- 
most bursting into tears as he grasped Alvar’s hand. 

“ Bandits, bandits?” cried half a dozen voices. 

But Cherry could not speak a word; he only put out his hand 
and caught Jack’s, as if to feel sure of bis presence also. 

“ Mi quendo,” said Alvar in his gentle, natural tones, ** all the 
terror is over — now you can rest. 1 think you had better go, Jack. 
1 will take care of him,” he added, 

“Yes,” said Mr. Stanforth; “ this has been far too much. Come, 
Jack— come and tell us all that has chanced.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

JACK ON HIS METTLE. 

* Lat me alone in chesing of my wyf, 

That charge upon my bak I wol endure. 

Chaucer. 

That same morning, when Jack and Alvar had ridden hurriedly 
up to the hotel, looking eagerly to catch sight of tli03e who were so 
anxiously watching for them, their eyes fell on Gipsy’s solitary 
figure, standing motionless, wilh eyes turned toward the mountain, 
and hands dropped listlessly before her. Jack’s heart gave a great 
bound, and at the sound of the horses’ hoofs, she turned with a start 
and scream of joy, and sprung to.ward them, whilst Jack, jumping 
off, caught both her hands, crying — 

“ Oh, don’t be frightened any more, we’re come!” 

“ Your brother!” exclaimed Gipsy, ns she flew into the house; 
bul her cry of “'PapaJ papa!” was suddenly choked with such an 
outburst of blinding, stilling tearstind sobs, that she paused perforce; 
and as they ran upstairs, Mariquita, the pretty Spanish girl who 
waited on them, caught her hand and kissed her fervently. 

“ Ah, senorita, dear senorita; thanks to the saints, they have sent 
her lover back to her. Sweet senorita, now she will not cry!” 

A sudden access of selt-consciousuess seized on Gipsy; she 
blushed to her finger-tips, and only anxious to hide the tears she 
could not check, she hurried away, round to the back of the inn, 
into a sort of orchard, where grew peach and nectarine trees, apple 
and pears already showing buds, and where the ground was cov- 
ered with jonquils and crocuses, while beyond was the rocky preci- 
pice, and, far off , the snow} peaks that still made Gipsy shudder. 
Unconscious of the strain she had been enduring, she was terrified 
at the violence of her own emotion, for Gipsy was not a girl who 
was . given to gusts of feeling. Probably the air and the solitude 
were hei best remedies, for sbe soon began to recover herself and 
sat up among the jonquils. Oh, how thankful she was that the 
dancer was over and the bright kindly Cheriton spared from such a 
terrible sorrow! But was it for Cheriton ’s. pake that these last two 
days had been like afrightful dream, that her very existence seemed 
to have b*en staked on news of the lost ones? No one — no one 
could help such feelings. Miss Weston had cried about it and her 
father had never been able to touch a pencil. But that foolish Mar- 


179 


AK ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

iquital Here Gipsy sprung to lier feet with a start, for close at her 
side stood Jack. At sight of him, strong and ruddy and safe, her 
feeling overpowered her consciousness of it, and she said, earnestly — 

“ Oh, 1 am so thankful you are sate! It was so dreadful!” 

“ And it was not dreadful at all in reality, only tiresome and ab- 
surd,” said Jack. 

“ It was very dreadful here,” said Gipsy, in alow voice, with 
fresh tears springing. 

“ Oh, if you felt so,” cried Jack, ardently, “ 1 wish it could hap- 
pen to me twenty times over!” 

“ Oh, never again!” she murmured; and then Jack, suddenly and 
impetuously — 

“ But 1 am glad it happened, for 1 found out up in that dirty hole 
how I felt. There was never any one like you. I — I— could you 
ever get to think of me? Oh, Gipsy, I mean it. 1 love you!” cried 
the boy, his stein, thoughtful lace radiant with eagerness, as he 
seized her hand. 

“ Oh, no— you don’t!” stammered Gipsy, not knowing what # she 
said. 

“ I do!” cried Jack desperately. “ I never was a fellow that did 
not know his own mind. Of course I know I’m young yet; but I 
only want to look forward. I shall work and get on, and— and up 
there at school and at Oakbyl never thought there was any one like 
you. I disliked girls. Biit now — oh, Gipsy, won’t you begin at 
the very beginning with me, and let us live our lives together?” 

Boy as he was, there was a strength of intention in Jack’s earnest 
tones that carried conviction. Perhaps the mutual attraction might 
have remained hidden for long, or even have passed away, but tor 
the sudden and intense excitement that had brought it to the sur- 
face. 

“ Won’t you— won’t you?” reiterated Jack; and Gipsy said 
“Yes.” 

They stood in the glowing sunshine, and Jack felt a sort of ec- 
stasy of unknown bliss. He did not know how long was the pause 
before Gipsy, starting, and as if finishing the sentence, went on — 

“ Yes— but 1 don’t know. What will they all say? Isn’t it 
wrong when we are so young?” 

“ Wrong! as if a year or two made any difference to feelings like 
mine!” cried Jack. “If I were twenty-five, if f were thirty,! 
couldn’t love you better!” 

“ Yes— but— ” said Gipsy, in her quick, practical way. “ l T ou 
are young, and— and— papa — If he says— ” 

“ Of course 1 shall tell him,” said Jack. “ I am not going to 
steal you. If you will wait, I’ll work and show your father that 1 
am a man. For I love you!” 

“I’ll wait!” said Gipsy softly; and then voices sounded near, 
and she started away from him, while Jack— but Jack could never 
recollect exactly what he did during the next ten minutes, till the 
thought of how he was to tell his story sobered him. Practical life 
had not hitherto occupied much of Jack’s mind; he had had no 
distinct intentions beyond taking honors, and if possible a fellow- 
ship, till he had been seized upon by this sudden passion, which in 
most lads w r ould probably have been a passing fancy, but in so ear- 


180 ' 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE, 

nest and serious a nature took at once a real and practical shape. But 
when Jack thought ot facing Mr. Stanforth, and still worse his own 
father, with his wishes and his hopes, a fearful embarrassment 
-seized on him. No, he must first make his cause good with the only 
person who was likely to be listened to— he must find Cherry. 
However, the first person he met was Mr. Stanforth, who innocent- 
ly asked him if he knew where his daughter was. Jack blushed 
and stared, answering incoherently— 

“ I was only looking for Cherry.” 

“ There he is. 1 heard him asking for you. Perhaps Gipsy is in 
the orchard.” 

Jack felt very foolish and cowardly, but tor his very life he 
could not begin to speak, and he turned toward the bench where 
Cherry sat in the sun, smoking his pipe comfortably, and conscious 
of little but a sense of utter rest and relief. 

“ Well, Jack, I haven’t heard your story yet,” he said, as Jack 
came and sat down beside him. “ 1 don't think you have grown 
thin, though iVlvar says they nearly starved you to death.” 

“ Where is Alvar?” asked Jack. 

“ I got him to go to the mayor, intendente , whatever the official is 
called here, and see if anything could be done for poor Pedro. His 
mother was here just now in an agony. Jack, 1 think the 4 evils of 
government ’ might receive some illustrations.” 

“ Cheriton,” said Jack, with unusual solemnity, 44 I’ve got to ask 
your advice— that is, your opinion— that is, to tell you something.” 

“Don’t you think 1 should look at it from a ludicrous point of 
view?” said Cherry, whose spirits were ready for a reaction into 
nonsense. 

“1 don’t know,” said Jack; ‘‘but it is very serious. I have 
made up my mind, Cherry, that 1 mean to marry Miss Stanfoith, 
and 1 shall direct all my efforts in life to accomplish this end. • I 
know that I’m younger than is usual on these occasions; but such 
things are not a question of time, Cherry, do help me; they’ll all 
listen to you.” 

Cheriton sat with his pipe-in his hand, so utterly astonished, that 
he allowed Jack’s sentences to come to a natural conclusion. Then 
he exclaimed— 

“Jack! You!. Oh, impossible!” 

“ I don’t see why you should think it impossible. Anyhow, it’s 
true!” 

“ But it is so. sudden. Jack, my dear boy, youhe slightly carried 
off your head just now. Don’t say a word about it — while we’re all 
together at least ; it wouldn’t be fair.” 

“ Butlhave,” answered Jack, “ and — and — ” in a different tone, 
“ Cherry, 1 don’t know how to believe it myself, but she— it is too 
wonderful — she will.” 

Cherry did not answer. He put his hand on Jack’s with a sud- 
den, quick movement. 

44 1 suppose you think 1 ought to have waited till 1 had a better 
right to ask her,” said Jack presently. 

A look of acute pain passed over Cheriton ’s face. He said doubt- 
fully, “ Are you quite sure?” 

“ Sure? Sure ot what?” 


AX ENGLISH SQUIKE. 181 

“ Of your own mind and hers?” 

“Did I ever not know my own mind? I’m not a fool!” said 
Jack angrily. “ And, if you could have seen just the way she 
looked, Cherry, you wouldn’t have any doubts.” 

“ 1 am afraid,” said Cherry very gently, and after a pause, “ that 
you have been very hasty. 1 don’t think that father, or Mr. Stan- 
forth either, would listen to you now.” 

“ I want you to ask them,” said Jack insinuatingly. “ Father 
would do anything for you now; and, besides, we are young enough 
to wait, and I’ve got the world before me, and 1 mean to keep 
straight and get on. Why should Mr. Stanforth object? 1 feel as 
if 1 could do anything. You don’t think it would make me idle? 
No, 1 shall work twice as hard as I should without it.” 

“Yes,” said Cherry, quietly; “ no doubt.” 

Something in his tone brought recent facts to Jack’s remem- 
brance, as was proved by his sudden silence. Cherry looked round 
at him and smbed. 

“ You know. Jack, 1 wasn’t prepared to find the school-boy stage 
passed into the lovei’s. I’ll speak to Mr. Stanforth, if that is what 
you want, and even if things don’t fit in at once, if you feel as you 
say, you won’t be much to be pitied with such an aim before you!” 

“I’m not at all ashamed of telling myown story,” said Jack, 
“ but—” 

. “ But fheie is Mi. Stanforth coming out of the house, so if you 

mean to run away you had better make haste about it.” 

Jack rose, but he paused a moment, and as Mr. Stanforth came 
toward them, said bluntly — 

“ Mr. Stanforth, 1 want Cheriton to tell you about it first;” then 
deliberately walked away. 

Poor Mr. Stanforth, who had little expected such an ending to his 
tour with his favorite little daughter, was feeling himself in a worse 
scrape than the lovers, and though he had romance enough to sym- 
pathize with them, was disposed to be angrv w r itli Jack for his in- 
considerate haste, and to feel that “ What will your mother say?” 
was a more uncomfortable question to himself than to his daughter. 

Cheriton, on his side, would have been very glad of a few min- 
utes for reflection, but Mr. Stanforth began at once— 

“ I see 1 have not brought news to you.” 

“ No,” said Cherry. “ Jack has been talking to me; I had no 
idea of such a thing. But, Mr. Stanforth, there is no doubt that 
Jack is thoroughly in earnest,” as a half smile twinkled on the 
artist’s perplexed countenance. 

“ In earnest, yes; but what business has he to be in earnest? 
What would your father say to such a proceeding? What can he 
say at your brother’s age, and of people of whom he knows noth- 
ing, and of a connection of which, knowing nothing, he probably 
would not approve?” 

Cheriton blushed, knowing that this last assertion contained much 
truth. 

“ But he does know,” he said, “ of all your kindness, and he will 
know more — and — and when he knows you, he could not think — ” 

“ Excuse me, my dear fellow, but he will think. He will think 
1 have thrown my daughter in the way of his sons-~for which 1 


182 AK ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

have only my own imprudence, 1 suppose, to thank. And he would 
no doubt dislike a connection the advantages of which, whatever 
they may be, are not enumerated in Burke’s ‘ Landed Gentry.’ ” 

Mr. Stapforth smiled, though he spoke with a certain spirited 
dignity, and Cheriton could not contradict him; for though Mr. 
Sianforth had not risen out of any romantic obscurity, he certainly 
owed his present position to his own genius and high personal char- 
acter. He had himself married well, and all would depend on the 
way in which it was put to a man like Mr. Lester, slow to lealize 
unfamiliar facts. Cheriton could not take the liberty of saying that 
he thought such an objection would be groundless, or at least easily 
overcome; but he was afraid that his silence might be misconstrued, 
and said — 

“ But on your side, Mr. Stanforth, would you think it wrong to 
give Jack a little hope? 1 think he has every prospect of success 
in life. And he is a very good fellow. Sudden as this is, 1 feel 
sure that he will stick to it.” 

“ As to that,” said Mr. Stanforth, “ 1 like Jack very well, and 
for my part 1 think young people are all the better for having to 
tight their way; but whatever may take place in the future 1 can 
allow no intercourse till your father’s consent is obtained. That 
will give a chance of testing their feelings on both sides. Gipsy is 
a. mere child, sbe may not understand herself.” 

“ 1 think,” said. Cheriton, “ that if Jack writes to my father now 
or speaks to him when he gets home, that no one will attend to 
him. Bui if it could wait till we all go back. I could explain the 
circumstances so much better. It is always difficult to take in 
what passes at a distance.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Stanforth, “ all 1 have to say is that when 
Jack applies to me, with his father’s consent, I will hear what he 
has to say, not before. Come, Cheriton,” he added, “ you know 
there is no other way of acting. This foolish boy has broken up 
our pleasant party, and upset all our plans.” 

“ Perhaps 1 ought to have made more apologies for him.” said 
Cherry, with a smile. “ But 1 want things to go well with Jack. 
It would be so bad tor him to have a disappointment of that kind 
just as he is making nis start in life.” 

Mr. Stanforth noticed the unconscious emphasis, “ I want things 
to go well with Jack ,” and said kindly, “ Jack couldn’t have a bet- 
ter special pleader, and if he has as much stuff in him as 1 think, a 
few obstacles won’t hurt him.” 

Oh, Jack has plenty of good strong stuff in him, mental, moral — 
and physical, too,” added Cherry hurriedly. 

Mr. Stanforth was touched by the allusion, which was evidently 
intended to combat a possible latent objection on his part. 

“ Jack is excellent — but inconvenient,” he said, thinking it better 
not to make the subject too serious. “ The tiling is what to do 
next.” As he spoke, Jack himself came up to them, and Mr. Stan- 
forth prevented his first words with, “ My dear fellow, 1 have said 
my say to your brother, and I don’t mean to listen to yours just yet.” 

“ 1 believe, sir,” said Jack, “ that 1—1 have not observed suffi- 
cient formalities. I shall go straight home to my father,, and 1 hope 
to obtain his full consent. But it is due to me to let me say that 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 183 

my mind is, and always will be, quite unalterable. And I’m not 
sorry 1 spoke, sir— 1 can’t be!” 

“ No,” said Mr. Stanforth; “ but 1 must desire that you make no 
further attempt at present.” 

“ I hope, Mr. Stanforth, that you don’t imagine I would attempt 
anything underhand!” cried Jack impetuously. 

“I shall have every confidence in you,” said Mr. Stanforth 
gravely: “ but remember, 1 can not regard you as pledged to my 
daughter by anything that has passed to-day.” 

Jack made no answer, but he closed his lips with an expression 
of determination. 

When Alvar came back, having succeeded in instituting an in- 
quiry into the merits of Pedro’s character, there was a discussion of 
plans, which ended in the three brothers agreeing to go by the short- 
est route to Seville, whence Jack could at once start for England; 
while the Stantorths followed them by a longer and more pictur- 
esque road, and after picking up their own property, would also go 
home md Madrid"Some week or two later. Alvar was not nearly so 
much astonished as the others, nor so much concerned. 

“ It was natural,” he said, “ since Jack’s heart was not preoccu- 
pied, and would doubtless pass away with absence.” 

Jack was so excessively indignant that he did not condescend to 
a reply, only asking Cherry if he was too tired to start at once. 

This proposal, however, was negatived by Mr. Stanforth, who re- 
marked that he did not want to hear of any more adventures in the 
dusk; and it was agreed that both parties should start early on the 
following morning. In the meantime the only rational thing was 
to behave as usual. Jack was, however, speechless and surly with 
embarrassment, and stuck to Cheriton as if he was afraid to lose 
sight of him; while Gipsy bore herself with a transparent affectation 
of unconsciousness; and, though she blushed at every look, coined 
little remarks at intervals. Miss Weston kindly professed to be seized 
with a desire to inspect the Dominican Convent, and carried her 
and Alvar oft for that purpose; while Jack held by Cherry, who was 
glad forest, though this startling incident had one good effect, in 
•driving away all the haunting memories of the late alarm. 

The next morning all were up with the sun, Gipsy busily dispens- 
ing the chocolate and pressing it on Cheriton as he sat at the table. 
Suddenly she turned, and, with a very pretty gesture, half confi- 
dent, half shy, she held up a cup to Jack, who stood behind. 

” Won’t you have some?” she said, with a hint of her own mis- 
chief in her eyes and voice. Jack seized the cup, and— upset it over 
the deft, quick hands that tendeied it to him. 

14 Oh, 1 have burnt you!” he exclaimed, in so tragic a voice that 
all present burst out laughing. 

“ No,” said Gipsy, 44 early morning chocolate is not dangerously 
hot; but you have spoiled my cuff's, and spilled it, and I don’t think 
there’s any more of it.” 

” Jack’s first attention!” said Cherry, under his breath; but he 
jumped up and followed Alvar, who had gone to see about the 
mount provided for them. Miss Weston was tying various little 
bags on to her saddle. 


184 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


44 1 say, Mr. Stanforth,” called Cherry, “there’s such a pictur- 
esque mule here; do come and see it.” 

He looked up with eyes full of mischievous entreaty as Mr. Stan- 
forth obeyed his call. “Well,” said the latter with a smile, “I 
may ask you to come and see me at Kensington, for 1 must get the 
picture finished. ” 

“That was a much prettier picture, just now,” said Cheriton; 
44 and I’m sure Jack would be happy to sit tor it any time.” 

When Gipsy, long afterward, was pressed on the subject of that 
little parting interview, she declared that Jack had done notliiug 
but say that he wouldn’t make love to her on any account; but 
however that might be, she soon came running out, rosy and bash- 
ful ; while Cheriton put her on her mule and gave her a friendly 
hand-squeeze and a look of all possible encouiagement. Mr. Stan- 
fortli went into the house and called Jack to bid him a kind fare- 
well. After the party had set off, Gipsy looked back and saw the 
crowd of mule-drivers and peasants, the host and hostess, with 
Man quit a kissing her hands, and the three brothers standing to- 
gether in the morning sunshine, waving their farewells. As they 
passed out of sight, her father touched her hand and made her ride 
up close to his side. 

“ My little girl,” he said, “ this is a serious thing that has come 
to you; 1 do not know how it may end for you. 1 am sure that it 
will bring you anxiety and delay. Be honest with yourself, and do 
nol exaggerate the romance and excitement of these last tew days 
into a feeling which may demand from you much sacrifice.” 

Gipsy had never heard her father speak in this tone before— she 
was awed and silenced. 

“ Be honest,” repeated her father, 44 for I think it is a very honest 
heart that you have won.” 

“ Papa,” said Gipsy, “ 1 am honest, and I think 1 know what you 
mean. But I don’t mind waiting if 1 know he is waiting too. lie 
said. 4 begin at the beginning ’ with him.” 

Well,” said Mr. Stanforth with a sigh, “ Che sard sard;” but 
with a sudden turn, “ He is young, too, you know, and many things 
may happen to change his views.” 

“ I can not help it now, papa,” said Gipsy, who felt that those 
days and nights of terror had developed her feelings more than 
weeks of common life. She gave her father’s hand a little squeeze, 
and looked up in his face with the tears on her black eyelashes. 
She meant to say, 44 1 love you all the better because of this new 
love which has made everything deeper and warmer for me,” but 
all she managed to say was— “ There! There are all the things 
tumbling out of your knapsack! I’m not going to have that hap- 
pen again even if— if —whatever should take place in the future.” 

“ 1 hope, my dear, that nothing more will happen, at least til! we 
are at home again,” said Mr. Stanforth meekly; but Gipsy put the 
things into the knapsack, and after a little silence they fell into a 
conversation on the scenery as nafcurally as possible. 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE, 


185 


CHAPTER X. 

A SUMMONS. 

“ Once from high Heaven 
Is a father given. 

Once— and, on, never again!” 

After Jack returned home, with the understanding that the dis- 
closure of his holiday occupation should await Ins brother’s return, 
and after the Stantorths had also left Seville, Alvar and Cheriton 
spent several weeks there without any adventures to disturb their 
tranquillity. Alvar was a good deal with his grandfather, whose 
health was not at this time good, but who haul evinced great curi- 
osity as to the details of their detention on the mountains. He used 
also to go to the different clubs and meet acquaintances, where they 
talked politics and scandal, and played at cards, dominoes, and bill- 
iards. It was an aimless existence, and Cheriton sometimes. fan- 
cied that Alvar grew restless under it, and would not be sorry to 
return to England. This, however, might have been owing- to 
Cheriton’s own decided dislike to the young Sevilianos , who struck 
him as almost justifying his grandmother’s preconceived theory of 
Alvar’s probable behavior. 

“ Ah, they do not suit you, that is not what you like,” Alvar said 
cheerfully; but he never said, M It is not good , this sort of life does 
not make a nation great or virtuous.” 

Manoel was of another type, and perhaps a more respectable one; 
but they saw very little of him. Cheriton liked the ladies, who 
were kind, and possessed many domestic virtues; and at Don Guz- 
man's country place there, was something exceedingly pleasant in 
the cheeri ulness and gayety of the peasants. He would have liked 
to have found out something of the working of the Church, of the 
views of the clergy, and how far they differed not only from those 
of an Anglican, but of an intelligent Roman priest in more civilized 
countries, but on these subjects no one would talk to him. He heard 
mutterings of hatred toward the priests in some quarters, ami a good 
deal of chatter about processions and ceremonies from the young 
ladies, but nothing further. He did not want for occupation. He 
could now read and speak: Spanish easily; and although the Cid, 
Ferdinand and Isabella, the Armada, and the Inquisition had been 
about the only salient points in his mind previously, he made a 
study of Spanish history, without much increase of his admiration 
for the Spaniards. He was able, also, to do much more sight-seeing 
than at first, and of the cathedral he never tired, and never came to 
the end of its innumerable chapels, each with some great picture, 
which Mr. Sanforth had taught him howto see; never ceased to find 
something new in the mystery and solemnity of its aisles with their 
glory of colored lights. 

These quiet weeks formed a sort of resting-place, during which 
he was able to think both of the past and of the future; he could 
dare now to look away from the immediate present. Cheriton’s 
eyes were very clear, his moral sense very keen, and he saw that he 


186 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

had been under a delusion, that Ruth and he were as the poles 
asunder, that tier deliberate deception, her want ot any sense ot 
honor, had marked a nature that never could have satisfied his. 
Love in his case was no longer blind, but it was none the less pas- 
sionate, and, whatever else life might hold for him, the memory of 
all his first, best hopes could never bring him anything but pain. 
This pain had been as much as he could bear, but others, he thought, 
had suffered as keenly, and had led lives that were ueither ignoble 
nor unhappy. Because one great love had gone out of his life was 
nothing else worthy or dear? “ Nothing ” had been the answer 
of his first anguish, but Cheriton’s nature was too rich in love lor 
such an answer to stand. The help for which he had prayed had 
been sent to him, and it came in the sense that home faces were 
still dear — how dear his late alarm had taught him — home duties 
still paramount, that he could be a good son and brother and friend 
still. And he thought with a sort of surprise of the many pleasant 
and not unhappy hours he had passed of late; how much, after all, 
he had “ enjoyed himself.” He hardly knew that his quick in- 
telligence was a gift to be thankful for, or that his unselfish interest 
in others brought its own reward. On another side of his nature, 
also, he resisted the aimlessness of his lost hopes. The thought of 
Ruth had sweetened his success at Oxford, but he would not be such 
a coward as to give up all his objects in life, he would make aname 
for himself still, and show her that she had not brought him to 
utter shipwreck. This motive was strong in Clieriton, though it 
ran alongside with much higher ones. 

One picture in the cathedral exercised a great fascination over 
Cheriton’s mind. It hangs in the Capella del Consuelo, over a side 
altar, dedicated to the Angel de la Guarda , and is one of the many 
mastei pieces of Murdlo to be found in Seville. It represents a tall, 
strong angel with wide-spread wings, and grave, benevolent face, 
leading by the hand a child— a subject which has been of course 
repeated in every form of commonplace prettiness. But in this pict- 
ure the figure of the angel conveys a sense of heavenly might and 
unearthly guardianship which no imitation or repetition could give. 
It is called the “ Guardian Angel,” biit Clieriton had been told by 
one of the priests that the name given to it by the painter himself 
was ' The Soul and the Church,” which for some reason or other 
had been changed by the monks of the Capuchin Convent, to 
whom the picture had originally belonged. It was a thought and 
a carrying out of the thought which, seen among such surround- 
ings, was full ot suggestion, how and why that Divine Guidance 
seemed here in great measure to have gone astray, how ilie great 
angel s finger had not always pointed upward, and yet how utterly 
helpless and rudderless the naiion was when it cast oil the Guide of 
Its fatner. Then his thoughts turned to his own life and to the 
iianci tnat held it, to the Guidance that was sometimes so hard to 
Tecosnnze, so difficult to yield to, and yet how the sense of a love 
ana a wisdom above his own, speaking to him, whether in the 
events of his own life, the better impulses of his own heart, or in 
the visible forms of religion, was the one light in t lie darkness. 

u O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till 
The night' is gone. ,, 


AIT ENGLISH SQUIRE. 187 

As he murmured the words halt aloud a hand touched his shoul- 
der. He looked up and saw Alvar standing beside him. 

“ Mi. querido, I have been looking for you. Will you come 
home? I want you,” he said. 

‘‘There is something* the matter,” said Cheriton quickly, as he 
looked at him. “ What is it?” 

“ All, I must tell you!” said Alvar, reluctantly. “ It is bad news 
indeed. Sit down again— here— I have received this.’ He took -a 
telegraph paper out of his pocket and put it into Cherry’s hand. 

“Mrs. Lester to Altar Lester. — Your father has met with 
a dangerous accident. He wishes to see you. Come home at once. 
He desires Cheriton to run no risk.” 

Cheriton looked up blankly for moment, then started to his feet, 
crushing up the paper in his hand. 

“ Quick,” he said, “ we must go at once. When? By Madrid 
is the shortest way.” 

“ Yes— 1 — ” said Alvar; “ but see wliat he says.” 

*' 1 must go,” said Cheriton. “ Don’t waste any words about it. 
I know he wants me. I il be careful enough, only make haste.” 

But he paused, and dropping on his knees on the altar step, cov- 
ered his face with his hands, rose, and silently led the way out of 
the cathedral. 

Alvar, with his usual tact, perceived at once that it would be im- 
possible to persuade him to stay behind, and did not fret him by the 
attempt, though this hasty journey and the return to Oakhy in the 
first sharp winds of March were more on his own mind than the 
thought of what news might meet them at the journey’s end. 

It was still early in the day, and they were able to start within a 
few hours, only taking a few of their things with them, amid a con- 
fusion of tears, sympathy, and regret ^Don Guzman evidently 
parting from Alvar with reluctance, and bestowing a tremendous 
embrace on Cheriton in return for his, thanks for the kindness that- 
had been shown to him. Manoel, on the other hand, was evidently 
relieved at their early departure. 

Some days later, on a wild blustering morning in the first week 
of March, Jack Lester stood on the step of the front door ot Oakby ; 
The trees w r ere still bare, and scarcely a primrose peeped through 
the dead leaves beneath them; pale rays of sun were struggling with 
the quick driven clouds, the noisy caw of the rooks mingled with 
the rustle of the leafless branches. Jack was pale and heavy-eyed. 
He looked across the wide, wild landscape as if its very familiarity 
were strange to him, then started, as up the park from a side en- 
trance came a carriage and pair as fast as it could be driven, and in 
anolher minute pulled up at the door. 

‘‘ Oh, Cherry, we have never dared to wish for you!” cried Jack, 
as Cheriton sprung out and caught both his hands. “ Come irt — 
come in! Oh, if you had but come last night!” 

“ Hot too late— not too late altogether?” 

Jack shook his head, his voice choked, but they knew^ too well 
what he would tell them, and the two brothers stood just within 
th^door, holding by each other, Jack sobbing with relief from the 


188 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

strain ot responsibility and loneliness^ and Cheriton dazed and 
silent, unable to utter a word. 

The servants began to gather round them. 

“Oh, Mr. Cheriton, it’s some comfort to see you back, sir!” said 
the butler; and— “ Thank heaven, sir, you’re come to help your 
poor grandmother!” cried the old housekeeper; while Nettie, flying 
down-stairs, threw herselt into Cheriton’s arms, as it they were a 
refuge from the agony of new and most forlorn sorrow, while he 
held her fast with long speechless kisses. 

Alvar stood still. In that instinctive mutual clinging in the first 
shock of their common grief he had no share, and tor the moment 
he stood as much a stranger among them as when, more than a 
year before, he had come into the midst of their Christmas merry- 
making, and had silenced their laughter by his unwelcome pres- 
ence. 

Jack was the first to awaken to a sense of present necessity. 

“ You have been traveling all night,” he said. “ Come and sit 
down— you must be tired out.” 

“We have had some breakfast at Hazel by, while we waited for 
the carriage,” said Alvar; and Cherry, as Nettie released ner hold, 
unfastened his wraps, and moved over to the hall fire, sitting down 
in the great chair, as they began to exchange question and answer. 

“ What happened— how was it?” 

“ Didn’t you get my telegram?” said Jack. 

“No; only granny’s. Where is she?” 

“ Asleep, 1 hope The meet was at Ashrigg, and Rob fell in tak- 
ing the brook, just by Fletcher’s farm. And so— so he was thrown, 
and it was an injury to the spine; but he was quite conscious, and 
sent that telegram to Alvar. After that he didn’t often know us till — 
till last night. And it was over before eleven. We did not think 
you could possibly get here till to-night, and we had no news of 
you, so I telegraphed again as soon as 1 got home; but 1 suppose 
you missed the message.” 

“We wrote and telegraphed' from Madrid,” said Alvar; “ it is quite 
possible that there should be delay there; and in Paris and London 
we had hardly a moment to catch the trains. Cherry has been too 
anxious to feel the fatigue, but he must rest now.” 

“ There must be a great many things to attend to,” said Cheriton, 
standing up, and passing his hand oyer his eyes as if he were rous- 
ing himself out of an unnatural dream. 

“ Not yet,” said Jack, “ it is so early. Mr. Ellesmere will come 
back b 3 ^ and by.” 

Clieiry looked round. He noticed that a pair of anllers had been 
removed from one of the panels, and an impulse came to him to 
x ask why, and then the oddest sense of the incongruity of the re- 
mark. He rather knew than felt the truth of the blow that had 
fallen on them, and all the different aspects of this great change, 
even to remote particulars, passed over his mind, as over the mind of 
a drowning man, but as thoughts, not as realities Suddenly there 
was a bark and a scatter, and B idler, in an ecstasy of incongiuous 
joy, rushed into the hall, jumped upon him, yelping, licking, dan- 
cing and writhing with rapture. He was followed by Rolla, who 


189 


AN ENGLISH, SQUIRE. 

came slowly in, and laid his great tawny head on his master’s 
knee, looking sorrowfully up in his face as much as to say that he 
knew well enough that this was like no other home-coming. 

Cheriton started up and pushed them all aside. He walked away 
to the window and stared out at the park, into the library and 
looked round it, evidently hardly knowing what he was about. 
Alvar, who had been standing pale and silent, roused himself too, 
and followed him, putting his arm over his shoulder. 

“ Come,” he said; “ come upstairs. Jack, where is there a fire?” 

Cheriton. yielded instinctively to Alvar’s hand and voice, and 
Jack led them upstairs, saying that granny had insisted on their 
rooms being kept ready for them. Nettie withheld Buffer from fol- 
lowing them, and crouched down on the rug by the hall fire till 
Jack returned to her. 

“ They have both gone to bed for a little while,” he said; “ even 
Alvar is tired out. Nettie, you had better go to granny, as soon as 
she is awake, and tell her that they are here, and that Cherry is 
pretty well.” 

“ I suppose Clirery will tell us what to do,” said Nettie, as she 
stood up. 

Discipline and absence from home had improved Nettie; she was 
less childish and more considerate, remembering to tell Jack that 
he had had no breakfast, and to order some to be ready when the 
travelers should want it. 

Bob, who had been sent for a day or two before, now joined 
them. He had grown as tall as Jack, but grief and awe gave him 
a heavy, sullen look, and indeed they said very little to each other. 
Jack wrote a few necessary letters, and sent them oft by one of the 
grooms, and telegraphed to Judge Cheriton, who was coming that 
same evening, the news of what he would find. -But their father 
had been so completely manager and master, that Jack felt as if 
giving an order himself were unjustifiable, and as soon as lie dared 
he went to see if Cherry were able to talk to him. 

“ Come, Jack,”jsaid Cherry, as the boy came up to him; “ come 
now, and tell me eveiy thing.” 

Jack leaned against the foot of the bed, and in the half-darkened 
room told all the details of the last few days. There had not been 
much suffering, nor long intervals of consciousness, so far as they 
knew. Cherry could have done no good till last night. Granny 
had’ done all the nursing. “I never thought,” said Jack, “she 
loved any one so much.” Mr. Ellesmere had been- everything to 
them, and had written letters and told them what to do. “ But last 
night father came more to himself, and sent for Mr, Ellesmere, and 
presently he fetched me, and father took hold of my hand, and said 
to me quite clearly; ‘ Remember, your eldest brother will stand in 
my place; let there be no divisions among you.’ And then— then 
he told me to try and keep Bob straight, and that I had been a good 
lad. But oh, Cherry, if he had but known about Gipsy! But 1 
couldn’t say one word then. And then Mr. Ellesmere said, ‘ Shall 
Jack say anything to Cherry for you?’ And he smiled, and said, 
‘ My love and blessing, for he has been the light of my eyes.’ And 
then he sent tor Bob and Nettie, and sent, messages to old Wilson 


190 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

and some of the servants. And he said that he had tried to do his 
duty in life by his children and neighbors, but that be had often 
failed, especially in one respect, and also he had not ruled his tem- 
per as a Christian man should; and he asked every one to forgive 
him, and specially the vicar, it he had overstepped the bounds his 
position gave him; Mr. Ellesmere said something of ‘thanks for 
years of kindness.’ And then— we had the communion. And after 
a bit be said, very low, ‘ It my boy should live, 1 know he will 
keep things together.’ Then 1 think he murmured something about 
— about your coming— and the cold weather — and — and — you were 
not to fret — it was only waiting a little longer. And ttyen quite 
loud he said, ‘Fear God, and keep His commandments,’ and then 
just whispered, 4 Fanny.’ That was the last word; but he lived till 
eleven. And poor granny, she broke down into dreadful crying, 
and said, ‘ The light of my eyes— the light of my eyes is darkened.’ 
Nettie was very good with her; but at last we all got to bed — and 
—oh, Cherry, it isn’t quite so bad now we have you!”' and Jack 
pressed up to his side. 

Cheriton had listened to all this long, faltering tale leaning on his 
elbow, his wide open eyes fixed on his brother, without interrupting 
him by a word. Jack cried, and he put his arm round .his neck, 
and said, 44 Poor boy!” but no tears came to him. 

44 1 never thought—” said Jack, whose natural reserve was dis- 
pelled by stress of feeling, 44 1 never 'thought what a good man lie 
was, and how much he cared.” 

44 Yes, he loved goodness,” said Cherry, with a heavy sigh. 

It was true. With some prejudices and many weaknesses, Gerald 
Lester had set his duty first; he had lived such a life that those 
around him were the better for his existence; he had left a place 
empty and a work to be done. Who would fill the place — how 
would the work be done? 

Through all the crush of personal grief, his two sons could not 
but ask themselves this question; but the}' could not bring them- 
selves to speak of it to each other; and after a few minutes Cheriton 
said, 44 1 think 1 will get up now. We must talk things over to- 
gether; and 1 want to see granny.” 

44 If you have rested.” 

4 ‘ Oh, yes, as much as is possible. 1 am quite well, indeed. Go 
down, my boy. I will come directly.” 

Jack went with a lightened heart. If Cherry were well an:l able 
to take the lead among them, everything could be borne. When 
Cheriton came into the library he found that Alvar had already ap- 
peared, and was eating some breakfast, for it was still only twelve 
o’clock, while Mr. Ellesmere was standing by tire fire. The vicar 
greeted him kindly and quietly, and Alvar poured out some coffee 
for him; and then Mr. Ellesmere began to explain some of the ar- 
rangements he had been obliged to make, and that he had sent to 
their father’s solicitor, Mr. Malcolm, to come in the afternoon. 
Chenton thanked him andasked a few questions: but Alvar did not 
seem to take the conversation to himself, till the butler having taken 
away the breakfast things, paused, and after looking first at Cheri- 
ton, turned to Alvar, and said rather awkwardly— 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 191 

“ Do you expect the judge by the five o’clock train, sir, and shall 
the carriage be sent to Hazel by to meet him?” 

There was a moment’s silence, the three younger brothers colored 
to their very hair roots, and Cheriton made a halt step away from 
Alvar’s side. The sudden pang that shot through him by its very 
sharpness brought its own remedy. He put his hand od Alvar’s 
arm as if to call his attention. 

“ The train comes in at five— we had better send, hadn’t we?” 
he said. 

“ Oh, yes!” said Alvar. 

He had grown a little pale, and he turned his large black eyes on 
Cheriton with a look half-proud, half appealing, and so sad as to 
drown all Cheriton’s momentary shrinking in self-reproach. 

“ Alvar, ” said Mr. Ellesmere, “ it you will come with me, I have 
a message for you from your father.” 

He led the way into Mr. Lester’s study, and Alvar followed him 
to the room, of which his last vivid recollection was of the painful 
dispute after the breach of his engagement. He stood by the fire in 
silence, and the vicar said — 

“ Alvar, your father desired me to tell you, that of all the. actions 
of his life lie most regretted the neglect which for so many years he 
showed you. He bid me say that on his death-bed he desired his 
son's forgiveness.” 

“ My father made me every amends in his power,” said Alvar, in 
a low voice. 

” He commended your grandmother and your sister to your pro- 
tection and kindness; your brothers also, and thought thankfully of 
all that you and Cherry have become to each other.” 

Alvar was much agitated, for some moments he was unable to 
speak, then he said vehemently— 

“ This is my inheritance, as it was my father’s: but to my broth- 
ers I seem an interloper. This is the wrong my father did to me, 
he made me a stranger in my own place.” 

” il was a wrong of which he deeply repented.” 

“ It does not become me to speak of it,” said Alvar proudty. 

“ You must not exaggerate,” said Mr. Ellesmere. “ It would be 
hard for Cheriton to see any one in his father’s place;, but you have 
won from him, at any rate, a brother’s love.” 

“1 am his dear friend,” said Alvar; ‘‘but it is different with 
Jack.” 

" Don’t draw these fine distinctions. Be a worthy successor to 
your father; live here among your people, as he did, in the fear of 
God, and doing your duty as an English gentleman, and be, as you 
have ever been, patient and kind to your brothers. Doubtless it 
seems a hard task to you, but 1 earnestly believe that by God’s 
blessing you may be all to them that even Cheriton might be in your 
place. Nay, the very differences between you may be— may have 
been the means of good.” 

“ You are very kind to me, sir, and I thank you,” said Alvar 
courteously; but Mr. Ellesmere felt as if his words had fallen a lit- 
tle flat. He felt sorry for Alvar, but he could not look forward to 
the future without uneasiness. He saw that the wrong was neither 


192 


AST. ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

forgotten nor forgiven, and that there was in the young Spaniard’s 
nature a background of immovable pride that promised ill for ac- 
commodating himself to unfamiliar duties, and a want of moral in- 
sight that would be slow in recognizing them. 

It seemed rather inconsistent when Alvar said meekly, “ Clieriton 
will tell me in all things what 1 should do,” and led the way back 
to the library. 

Here they tound the others gathered in a group by the fire; Nettie 
sitting on a stool at Clieriton ’s feet, Jack leaning over the back of 
his chair, and Bob close at hand. How much alike they looked, 
with their similar coloring and outline, and faces set in the same 
sorrowful stillness and softened by the same feelings! Alvar paused 
and looked at them for a moment, but Clieriton, seeing him, rose 
and came iorward. 

‘‘We have been waiting for you, Alvar,” he said. ” 1 have been 
to see grandmamma, but 1 did not stay — she could not bear it; but 
now — will you come upstairs with us?” 

He gave a look of invitation to Mr. Ellesmere also, and be fol- 
lowed them silently into the chamber of death. 

Tlieie lay their father, all the irritable marks of human frailty 
smoothed away, and the grand outline and long beard giving him a 
likeness to some kingly monument. The twins held by each other, 
their grief almost overpowered by shrinking awe. Jack frowned 
and set his mouth hard, and wrung Cherry’s hand in his stress of 
feeling till- he almost crushed it, while Cheriton stood quite still and 
calm by Alvar’s side. 

“ Let us pray,” said Mr. Ellesmere; and as they all knelt down 
he repeated the Lord’s Prayer, and such other words as came to 
him. 

When they rose up again Cheriton bent down and kissed his 
father’s brow, and one by one the younger ones followed his ex- 
ample. Only Alvar stood still, till Cheriton turned to him, and 
taking his hand, with a look that Mr. Ellesmere never forgot, drew 
him forward. 

Alvar obeyed him, but as his lips touched his father’s face the 
thought suddenly struck Cheriton that it must Lave been for the 
first time— that never, even in babyhood, had a caress passed be- 
tween the father and son; and then, in contrast, be thought of 
himself, and the grief, hitherto unrealized, broke forth at last. He 
hid his face in his hands, and hurried out of the room into his own, 
away from them all. 



193 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


rAJlT IV. 

THE SQUIRE OF OAK BY. 

“ A lord of fat prize oxen and of sheep, 
A raiser of huge melons and of pines, 
A patron of some thirty charities, 

A quarter-sessions chairman.” 


CHAPTER I. 

THE F UNERAL. 

“ Wild March wind, wilt thou never cease thy sighing?” 

It was on a wild March morning, when sudden gleams ot radiant 
sunlight contended with heavy storm-clouds that Mr, Lester of 
Oakby was buried. There was no rain, but the violent wind car- 
ried the sound ol the knell in. fitful gusts over the mourning village, 
through the well-carcd-for fields and plantations of Oakby, away to 
Ashrigg and Elderth waitc, bringing all the country side in a great 
concourse to the funeral. For it was a real mourning, a real loss. 
Long years ago, Fanny Lester, with her bright smile, and clear, up- 
ward-looking eyes, had said to her husband, “We have a piece of 
work in the world given to us, Gerald; let us try and do it.’' And 
under her strong influence the dutiful and honorable traditions of 
conduct to which Gerald Lester was born, widened and were drawn 
higher; the various offices he held were exercised with conscientious 
effort for the benefit of his neighbors; and his tenantry, mind, soul 
and body, were the better for his life among them/ They could 
trust him, and if lie sometimes made mistakes from which the wise 
Fanny might have saved him, her death had consecrated for him 
every simple duty that* she had pointed out. Now, while “ the old 
squire ” still meant his father, while he was still in the strength of 
his manhood, he was gone; and at the head of his grave there stood, 
not the son they knew, with his father’s fair face and his mother’s 
fair soul, but the dark, stately stranger, who— among all those 
north country gentlemen, farmers, and laborers who crowded 
round, those “ neighbors ” all so well known to each other — looked 
so strangely out of place. 

So thought another stranger who, when he had traveled north- 
ward, had little thought to find himself present at such a scene. 

The Stanforths had long since returned to London, and Gipsy 
found herself once more in the midst of as pleasant a home-circle as 
ever a girl grew up in, while her attention was claimed by numer- 
ous interests, social, intellectual, and domestic. Hei mother shook 
her head over the story of Jack’s proposal; but she said very little 
about the matter, secretly hoping that. Gipsy would cease to think 
of it ou returning to another hemisphere. All the advances, she said 
to her husband, must now come irom the other side, and she could 
7 


194 


AH EKGLISH SQUIRE. 

not but regard the future as doubtful, and was slightly incredulous 
of the charms of the traveling companions whom she had not her- 
self seen. But Jack, while he was at Oxford, wrote to Mr. Stan- 
toith, about once a fortnight, rather formal and sententious epistles, 
which did not contain one word about Gipsy, but which in their 
.regularity and simplicity impressed her mother favorably. One 
long, pleasant letter arrived from Cheriton during his last weeks at 
Seville, and of this Gipsy "enjoyed the perusal. She did not show 
any symptoms of low spirits, and being a girl of some resolution of 
character, held her tongue and bided her time. Perhaps a bright 
and fairly certain expectation was all she as yet wanted or was 
ready for. She was young in feeling, even for her eighteen years, 
and in truth they were “ beginning at the beginning.” 

Still she wished ardently that her father should accede to a re- 
quest from Sir John Hubbard, that he should come down to Ash- 
rigg Hall, and paint a companion picture of his wife to one that he 
had taken of himself long ago. Lady Hubbard was infirm and 
could not come to London, or Sir John would not have made such 
a demand on Mr. Stanlorth’s time, now, of course, even more fully 7, 
occupied than it had been ten years before. 

Mr. Stanforth hesitated; he did not like the notion of any pos- 
sible meeting with Mr. Lester, while Jack s views remained a secret 
from him; but, Sir John had shown him a good deal of kindness, 
and he felt curious to hear something of his young friends in their 
own neighborhood. So the first week in March found him at Asli- 
rigg, in the midst of a large family party, for the eldest son and his 
wife were staying there, and there were several daughters at home. 

“We had hoped to give a tew of our friends the pleasure of 
meeting you, Mr. Stanforth,” said Sir John, after dinner, when the 
wine was on the table, “ but our neighborhood has sustained a great 
loss in the death of a valued friend of ours, Mr. Lester of Oak by.” 

“Mr. Lesler of Oakby! You don’t say so! Surely that is very 
sudden,” said Mr. Stanforth, infinitely shocked. “1 saw a great 
deal ot his sons in the south of Spain,” he added in explanation. 

“ Indeed! They are at home now, poor fellows. They were just 
too late. 1 had this note from Jack— thaffc the second son— no, the 
third — this afternoon. ” 

“ I know Jack, too,” said Mr. Stanforth, as he took the note. It 
was a very brief one, merely announcing his father’s death, and 
adding, — 

“My brothers returned from Spain this morning. We hope that 
the journey has done Cheriton no harm.” 

“ Ah, poor Cheriton!” said Mr. Stanforth. “ 1 tear he must have 
run a great risk. It will be a terrible blow to him. We formed 
something more than a traveling acquaintance.” 

‘ ‘ Poor Mr. Lester was here only a fortnight ago, speaking with 
delight of Cheriton ’s entire recovery,” said Lady Hubbard. 

“ Yes, lie was much better,” said Mr. Stanforth, a little doubt- 
fully, “ and full ot enjoyment. But this will be indeed a startling 
change.” 

“ Yes,” said Sir John; “one does not know how to think of 
Alvar in his father’s shoes. It was a sadly mismanaged business 
altogether.” 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 195 

“ There is a great deal to like in Alvar Lester,” said Mr. Stan- 
forth ; “ blit of course the circumstances are very peculiar.” 

“ Yes- You see while the elder brother, Robert, was alive no 
one thought 5 much of Gerald, and when this Spanish marriage came 
out it was a great shock. And he was too ready to listen to all the 
excuses about the boy’s health. It he had come home and been 
sent to school in England he might have grown up like the rest, and 
black eyes instead ot blue ones would have been all the difference. ” 

“ i have always thought his long absence inexplicable.” 

“ Well, Lester hated the thought ot his boyish marriage, and 
these other boys came, and Cherry was his darling. His wife did 
make an effort once, and Alvar was brought to France wlien he was 
about seven year’s old; hut they said he was ill. and took him back 
again. Then when old Mrs. Lester came in to power she opposed 
his earning, and things slipped on. 1 don’t think he was expected 
to live at first, and, poor fellow! no one wished that he should.” 

“The second Mrs. Lester must have been v a very remarkable 
person,” said Mr. Stantorth. 

“ She was,” said Lady Hubbard warmly. “ She was a person to 
raise the tone of a whole neighborhood. She made another man of 
her husband, and he worshiped her. She was no beauty, and very 
small, but with the brightest of smiles, and eyes that seemed to 
look straight up into heaven. No one could forget Fanny Lester. 
She influenced every one.” 

There was much more talk, and many side, lights were cast on 
Mr. Stanfortli’s mind when he heard of Alvar’s broken engagement 
to Virginia Seytou, and of her pretty cousin Ruth’s receut marriage 
to Captain Lester, “though at one time everyone thought that 
there was something between her and Cheriton. ” He could not but 
think most of how his own daughter’s future might be affected by 
this sudden ireeing ot her young Jover from parental control; but 
he was full of sympathy for them all, and the note that he wrote to 
Cheriton was answered by a request that he would accompany Sir 
John Hubbard to the funeral: “ They could never forget all his 
kindness in another time of trouble.” 

It was a striking group of mourners. Alvar stood in the midst, 
dignified and impassive, and by his side a tall, girlish figure, with 
bright hair gleaming through her crape veil, the three other brothers 
together, looking chiefly as if they were trying to preserve an un- 
moved demeanor; Rupert’s face behind them, like enough to sug- 
gest kindred, and Judge Clieriton’s keen cultivated face; Mr. Sey- 
tou, pale, worn, and white-haired, and his bi other’s tanned, weather 
beaten countenance, ruddy and solemn, above his clerical dress 
Many a line, powerful form and handsome outline showed among 
the men whose fathers had served Mr. Lester’s; and behind, crowds 
of women, children, and old people filled the churchyard and the 
lanes beyond. 

As the service proceeded the heavy clouds parted, and a sudden 
gleam ot sunlight fell, lighting up the violet pall and the white 
wreaths laid on it, the surplices of the choristers, and the bent heads 
of the mourners. Cheriton looked up at fast away from the open 
-grave, through the break in the clouds, but with a face strangely 
white and sad in the momentary sunlight. Jack, as they turned 


196 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

away, caught sight of Mr. Stanforth, and the sudden involuntary 
look of pleasure that lightened the poor hoy’s miserable face was 
touching to see. When all was over, and, in common with most of 
those from a distance, Mr. Stanforth had accompanied Sir John 
Hubbard up to the house, Jack sought him out, hardly having a 
word to say; but evidently iinding satisfaction in his presence. 

Oh, we have nothing picturesque at home, but still 1 should 
like to show you Oakby,” Cheriton had said, as they walked to- 
gether in the beautiful streets of Seville; but the long table in the 
old oak dining-room, covered with family plate, the somber, faded 
richness of coloring that told of years of settled dignified life, were 
not altogether commonplace, any more than the pair of brolhers 
who occupied the two ends of the table. It was not till there was 
a general move that Cheriton came up and put his hand into his 
friend’s. 

“ We all like to think that you have been here,” he said. “ You 
will come again while you are at Ashrigg?” 

” I will, indeed. And you, — these cold winds do not hurt you?” 

“ No, I think not. My uncle wishes Sir John Hubbard to hear 
some of our arrangements; you will not mind waiting for a little.” 

He spoke very quietly, but as if there were a great weight upon 
him, while his attention was claimed by some parting guest. 

“ Well, Cheriton, good-by^ this is a sorrowful day for many. 
You must try and teach your poor brother to fill your father’s 
place. We are all ready to welcome him among us, and we hope 
he will take an interest in everything here.” 

“ You are very kind, Mr. Sutton,” said Cheriton, rather as if he 
thought the kindness too outspoken. 

Then a much older face and voice took a turn. 

“ Good-by, my lad. Your grandfather and 1 were friends al- 
ways, and 1 little thought to see this day. Keep things going, 
Cherry, for the old name’s sake.” 

“ l shall be in London soon,” said Cherry ungraciously, for the 
echoes of his own forebodings were very hard to bear. Then Ru- 
pert came up with a warm hand-shake. 

“ Good*- by, my dear fellow. 1 hope we shall see you in London. 
Don’t catch another bad cold. 1 hope you’ll all get along together.” 

“ 1 dare say we shall. But thank you, it was very good of you to 
come just now.” 

“ Just off your wedding trip, as I understand?” said the old gen- 
tleman. 

“ Y^es; we came back from Paris a few days ago, and I must get 
back to town to-night,” said Rupert, as Cheriton moved away to 
join his uncle for a sortf of explanation of the state of affairs to the 
younger ones, and for the reading of the will, though its chief pro- 
visions were well known to him. 

Alvar, as his father had done before him, inherited the estate free 
from debt or mortgage, with, such an income as sounded to his Span- 
ish notions magnificent; but which those better versed in English 
expenditure knew would find ample employment in all tlie calls of 
such a place as (Jakby. It was quite sufficient for the position, but 
no more. The estate, ol course, still remained chargeable with old 
Mrs. Lester’s jointure. Mr. Lester had enjoyed the interest of his 


197 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

wife’s fortune during her life, the bulk of which had come to her 
from an aunt, and was secured to her daughter; her three sons suc- 
ceeding to five thousand pounds a piece, and for this money Judge 
Cheriton, and a certain General Fleming, a relation of the Cheri- 
tons, were joint trustees. So the will, made almost as soon as Mr. 
Lester inherited the property, had stood, and indeed most of its 
provisions had been made by liis father. Since his illness, however, 
a codicil had been added, stating that Mr. Lester had intended to 
leave the small amount of ready money at his disposal equally 
among his three younger sons, but that now he decided to leave the 
whole to Cheriton, “ whose health might involve him in more ex- 
penses, 'and prevent him from using the same exertions as his broth- 
els.” He also joined his two elder sons, with their uncle, Judge 
Cheriton, in the personal guardianship of John, Robert, and An- 
nette. There were a few gifts and legacies to servants and depend- 
ents, and that was all. 

“ Nothing,” remarked Judge Cheriton, after a pause, “ could be 
more proper than this decision with regard to Cheriton, though we 
hope its necessity has passed away; but under the very peculiar cir- 
cumstances every one has felt that it would have been well if a 
somewhat larger proportion of hi3 mother’s f ortune could have come 
to him.” 

“ Of course,” said Jack, “ it is all right.” 

“ But my father might have trusted him to me,” said Alvar. 

“ Such things should always be in black and white, ” said the 
judge. “ Your father has shown marked confidence both in you 
and in Cheriton by giving you a share in the charge of the younger 
Ones, and this desire will, of course, naturally affect our arrange- 
ments for them. Annette’s home at least must be fixed by her grand- 
mother’s.” 

“ But my grandmother will stay here,” said Alvar, in a tone of 
surprise. “ Why should she change? It will be all the same. And 
the boys, too, and my sister, and Cheriton — of course — we must be 
together.” 

lie spoke warmly, and crossing over to Cheriton, took his hand 
as he spoke. 

“ This is your home, my brother, always.” A 

“ You are very good to us, Alvar, thank you,” said Cheriton, 
hardly able to speak. 

“Most kind,” said the judge; “whatever may be decided on, 
your offer is suggested by a most proper feeling, of which 1 hope 
all are sensible.” 

“ Alvar is very kind,” said Jack shyly. 

“ Would you not expect that Cheriton should be 4 kind ’ to you? 
Then why not. I, as well?” said Alvar. 

44 Such an arrangement,” said the judge, “ would not be binding 
on Cheriton even in your place. I am rejoiced to see so good an 
understanding between you. Alvar has a great deal of business be- 
fore him, and it would be a pity to make any changes at present. 
But as for you, Cheriton, is it wise to remain here so early in the 
year?” 

“No,” said Alvar; “ I think we should go to the south for a lit- 
tle.” 


19$ ’ AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ I think the calls upon your time— v began the judge, but Cher- 
iton interposed. 

“ 1 don’t think 1 am any the worse for the weather,” he said, 
“ and 1 should not like to go away now. We shall all have a great 
deal to do.” 

Sir John Hubbard spoke a few friendly words and offered any 
assistance or advice to Alvar in his power, and then took his leave, 
as did Mr. Malcolm. Alvar and Jack, with the judge, accompanied 
them iuto the liall; and no sooner had the door of the study closed 
than. Nettie, who had been a silent spectator of the scene, suddenly 
Iwrst out— 

‘‘ 1 don’t care! 1 will say it! It may be very kind of Alvar, but 
it is horrible, horrible to think he is master, and may do what he 
pleases with us. I hate to sta} r here if he is to give us leave.” 

“ f told you, Nettie,” said Bob, with masculine prudence, “ that 
no one ought to say those things.” . 

“ Nor feel them, 1 hope,” said Cherry. “ Nettie, my dear child, 
you must not make, it worse for us all. We feel our great loss; but 
you know the future 'will not be easy for Alvar himself.” 

‘‘ 1 know,” sobbed Nettie, with increasing vehemence, “ that he 
will not be like — like papa. 1 can’t bear to think that the dear place 
all belongs to him, and the things, and the animals even, and the 
horses, lie doesn’t love them, nor the place, aMd we do.” 

“Be silent, Nettie,” said Oheriton, with unusual sternness; “I 
will never listen to one word like this. There is nothing wrong 
about it. Think of all that Alvar has done for me, and then say if 
such words are j ustifiable. ’ ’ 

The seventy of the tone silenced Nettie— it was meant to silence 
poof Clieriton’s own heart. He was stern to his sister because he 
felt severely toward himself; but Nettie thought him unjust, and 
only moved by partiality for Alvar. lie saw complications far be- 
yond her childish jealousy, and yet he shareef it. And above all was 
the anguish of a personal loss, a heavy grief that filled up all the 
intervals of perplexing anticipations and business cares. 

The twins went away together, and Cherry sat down in his fa.- 
ther’s chair, and leaned his head back against the cushion of it. It 
was all over, all the love that had so many last thoughts for him, 
and, alas! no last words. They had indeed parted foiever in this 
life; but liow differently from wltathe had expected last year. Over! 
and the future looked difficult and dark. “ lie does not love them, 
and we do.” It was too true. Cherry was tired out with the long, 
hasty journey, the succeeding strain of occupation, and with the 
sorrow that weighed him down — a sorrow that only now seemed to 
come upon him in all its strength. He was hot conscious of the 
passing of time till a hand was laid on liis shoulder, and Alvar’s 
voice said softly, “ I have been looking for you, Cheritomil* 

“ Oh, 1 am very tired,” said Cherry. 

How strange it was to rouse himself from thoughts in which Al- 
var’s image brought such a sense of trouble and perplexity, to feel 
the accustomed comlori of his presence! liow strange to shrink so 
painfully from the thought of liis foreign brother’s rule in his fa- 
ther’s place, and yet to feel Lie fretting weariness soothed insensibly 
by the care oa which he had learned to depend. He could not think 


AX ENGLISH SQUIRE. 199 

this crooked matter straight, he could not even feel compunction for 
his own tears. He was tired and wretched, and Alvar knew j t 
what was restful and comforting to him. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE NEW MASTER. 

“ Against each one did each contend, 

And all against the heir.” ■ ■- 

By the next morning Cheriton’s thoughts had cleared themseives, 
and matters began to take some shape; he could make up his mind 
to a certain line of conduct, or at least could place a distinct aim 
before him. He had often ffefore been forced to acknowledge that 
Alvar’s character, as well as his position, had its own rights; they 
must lake him as they lound him; neither his faults nor his excel- 
lencies were theirs — and how much Cherry owed to those very 
points in Alvar which had come on them like a surprise! Was it 
not the height both of ingratitude and of conceit to think ot him as 
of one to be altered and influenced before he could be. fit for his new 
station? Why would not Alvar’s gentleness, honor, and courtesy, his 
undoubted power ot setting himself aside, make him as valuable a 
member of society as industry, integrity, and regard for those about 
him had made of his father? It was iris misfortune, not his fault, 
that he was a square man in a round hole; and what could Cherry 
do but try to round off a few angles or poke a few corners for them 
to stick into? Was it prejudice and unworthy jealousy that made 
him unable to accept this view, or was there something in Nettie’s 
vehement disapproval, however unkindly and arrogantly it was ex- 
pressed? If Alvar chose lie could make a very good Squire Lester. 
Yes, if— There was the question. The English Lesters sometimes 
did right, and sometimes — some of them very often — did wrong* 
but they one and all recognized that doing right was the business of 
their lives, and that if they did wrong they must repent and suffer. 
They ceitainly believed that “conduct is nine-tenths ot life,” in 
other words, that they must “ do tlieir duty in that state ot life to 
which they were called.” 

But in Alvar this motive seemed almost non-existent. He did not 
care about his own duty or other people’s. Only such a sense, or 
the strong influence of the religion from which in the main it 
sprung, or a sort of enthusiasm equally foreign to him, could have 
roused an indolent nature to the'supreme effort of altering his Whole 
way ot living, of caring for subjects hitherto indifferent to him— in 
short, of changing his entire self. No doubt Alvar would think of 
something due to his position, and something more to pleaseOheri- 
ton, but he would not regard shortcomings as of any consequence; 
in short, it was not that Alvar’s principles were different from 
theirs, but that as motives of action he had not got any; not that he 
had. Spanish instead of English notions of property, politics or re- 
ligion, but that he did not care to entertain any notions at all. 

Cheriton understood enough now of the shifting scenes of Spanish 
life to understand that this might be their effect on an outsider who 


200 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


saw many different schemes of life all produce an equally bad effect 
on society; but it was none the less peculiarly ill-adapted to an 
owner of English property; and he took leave to think that if Span- 
ish gentlemen in past generations had administered justice in their 
own neighborhoods, mended their own roads, and seen to the in- 
struction of their own tenants, a. happier state of things might have 
prevailed at the present time in the peninsula. Anyhow, to him, as 
to his father, the welfare of Oakby was very dear— dearer now than 
ever, for his father’s sake. One thought had troubled Mr. Lester’s 
last hours, that by his own conduct he had allowed Alv$r to be- 
come unfit to succeed him: all, therefore, that Cheriton could do to 
remove that unfitness was so much work done for his father’s sake; 
all too that made Alvar happy, was an undoing of the wrong that 
he had suffered. There was no real discord between what was right 
by Alvar and by Oakby and by his own sense of right. To make 
the best of Alvar, to allow for all his difficulties, ta help him in 
every possible way, was not only due to that loving brother, but was 
the right way to be loyal to his father’s higher self, and to clear his 
memory from those weaknesses and errors which cling to every one 
in this mortal life— was, too, the only way to see his work carried on. 

This “high endeavor ” came to Cheriton. indeed, as “an in- 
ward light ” to brighten the perplexed path before him. Sorrow, 
he had already learned, could be borne, difficulties might be over- 
come, now that his inmost feelings were at peace. 

Certainly he had enough on his hands. Much of the correspond- 
ence with old friends fell naturally to his share. English “ busi- 
ness ’• was unintelligible to Alvar without his explanations, and 
though the new squire showed himseif perfectly willing to receive 
from" Mr. Malcolm an account of the various sources of his income, 
and submitted to go through his father’s accounts, and to hear re- 
ports from farmers and bailiffs, he always insisted on Cheriton’s 
presence at these interviews; and though he was too easily satisfied 
with the fact that “ my brother understands,” no one could have 
expected him to find it all quite easy to understand himself. 

Cherry apologized for putting his finger in every pie. 

“ Ob,” said Alvar cheerfully; “ I could not make the pie if 1 put 
in both my hands.” 

But Cheriton knew perfectly well that the parish and the estate 
believed themselves to be entering on the reign of King Log. Any 
breakers, however, in this direction were still far ahead; but within 
doors difficulties and incongruities came sooner to a point, and 
Alvar was by no means always to blame for them. 

On the day after the funeral, Mfs. Lester resumed her place in 
the family; but her son’s death had aged her much, and to see 
Alvar in his place was gall and wormwood to her. She accepted his 
offer of a home, and thanked him for it with dignity and propriety; 
but she did not attempt to conceal from the young ones that she 
grudged him the power to make it. 

The household airangemen is went ou as usual, and Alvar’s be- 
havior to her was irreproachable in its courtesy and consideration, 
nor did she ever clash with him, but reserved her fears and her dis- 
approbations for Cherry’s benefit. 

Nettie had come back from London at Christmas, and nothing 


201 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

more had been heard of Dick Seyton, who was then absent from 
home; but the recollection of that episode prompted Mrs. Lester to 
give a ready consent to 3 udge Cheriton’s proposal that she should 
go at Easter to school for a year. Bob, too, who had been taken 
away from school at Christmas, where his career had not lately been 
satisfactory, was at present reading with a clergyman at Hazel by, 
and was to be sent to a tutor by and by. In the meantime, both he 
and Nettie were as unhappy as young creatures can be when their 
world is all changed for them; with their hearts yearning tow aid 
what they already called old times. And all the force of their nat- 
ures concentrated into a sort of fierce, aggressive loyalty to every 
practice, opinion, and tradition of the past, and to this code they 
viewed Cherry as a traitor. It was a cruel offense when he. hap- 
pened to say that he liked to drink chocolate, and when Alvar made 
a point of his having some; when Alvar now and again used 
{Spanish expressions in speaking to him, when he pronounced Spanish 
names in Spanish fashion, or, worst of all, regretted Spanish sun- 
shine; when he yielded to Alvar’s care for his health, or seemed to 
turn to him for Sympathy— a' hundred such pin-pricks occurred 
every day. And yet the* foolish twins scrupulously did what they 
thought their duty. That Alvar owned their father’s horses cost 
Nettie floods of tears; but she insisted on Bob asking his permission 
before he took one to ride to Hazelby, and she always showed him 
a kind of sulky deference. 

“ IIow can you be so silly, Nettie?” said Jack, in answer to a 
pettish remark. “ Do you want Cherry to quarrel with Alvar?” 

“ No,” said Nettie; “but I didn’t think he would have liked 
Spain, and have talked so much about the pictures and things. Last 
night he asked Alvar to play to him.” 

“ 1 should think you might be glad to see him pleased with any- 
thing; he looks wretched enough.” 

“ Well, /like what 1 am used? to,” said Nettie, in a choked voice. 
“ 1 don’t care to hear about all the stupid people you met in Spain.” 

“ The friends we made in Spain,” said Jack, in high indigna- 
tion, “ were people with whom it was a privilege to associate. 

“1 dare say,” said Nettie; “but old acquaintances are good 
enough for me; mid old weather and everything. Yes, Buffer, TU 
take you out, if it is a nasty cold morning.” 

And Nettie went off, with a train of dogs behind her, angry with 
all her brothers, for even Bob had had the sense to grumble out 
“ that people must do as they pleased, and she had better let Cherry 
and Alvar alone,” and feeling as if she only were faithful to the 
dear home standard. 

As Jack stood by the hall fire, heavy-hearted enough himself, in 
spite of his rebuke to his sister, there was a ring at the bell, and the 
cloud cleared from his brow as he started forward to greet Mr. 
Stanforth with an eagerness unusual with him. 

He was too unaffectedly pleased to be embarrassed, and began al- 
most at once— 

“ My Uncle Cheriton comes back to us to-night. He had to leave 
us on the day after we saw you; Cherry has promised to speak to 
him, that we may come to an understanding before 1 go back to 
Oxford.” 


202 


^ AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

Mr. Stanfortli smiled a tittle. 

“ When do you come of age, Jack?” he said. 

“ 1 shall be twenty next week,” said Jack, in a tone of kiyailia- 
lion. “ If I take a fair degree, 1 shall try for a mastership in one 
of the public schools. I should like that— and it is suitable to get- 
ting married/’ concluded Jack, blushing. 

“Very well,” said Mr. Stau forth. “Then you shall come and 
tell me of your intentions tor the future in a year’s time from next 
week. Wait a bit,” as Jack looked exceedingly blank. “ If cir- 
cumstances had not so sadly changed, no other decision would have 
been possible for you. 1 have no objection, in the meantime, to see 
you occasionally at my house, as 1 think you should both have every 
opportunity of testing the permanence of such quick-springing feel- 
ings. ’ ’ 

Mr. Stanfortli smiled as he spoke; but Jack said after a moment — 

“ You mean that I must earn her? Well, I will. ” 

There was a solemn abruptness in Jack’s manner that provoked^a 
smile; but his self-confidence was tempered by a look of such abso- 
lute honesty and sincerity in his bright blue. eyes, he looked such a 
fine young fellow in all the freshness and strength of his youth, that 
It would have been difficult to doubt either Lis purpose or his power 
of carrying them out. 

“ Don’t you think you might have asked Mr. Stanfortli to take off 
his coat and come into the library before entering on such an' im- 
portant subject?” said Cheriton, joining them. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Jack; “ Please come in; 1 was not 
thinking — ” 

“ Of anything but your own affairs? No, that’s very unfair, tor 
1 am sure you have taken heed to every one else’s,” said Cherry, as 
he led the way into the library, where on the table was a great ac- 
cumulation of papers, looking like the materials for a heavy •morn- 
ing’s work. 

* Cherry sent Jack to find Alvar, and told him to order some wine 
to be brought into the library, apologizing to Mr. Stanfortli for not 
asking him to lunch, as their grandmother was unequal to seeing a 
stranger; and then, in Jack’s absence, he listened to Mr. Stanfoith’s 
ultimatum, and owned that it was a great relief not to have to startle 
his relations just now with what would seem an' incongruous pro- 
posal; but praising Jack’s sense and consideration in their trouble, 
and speaking of him with a kind of tender pride, unlike the tone of 
one so nearly on the same level of age, and whose life also was but 
beginning. He said that he should come to London at Easter, but 
that, in the meanwhile, there was much to be done at home. En- 
glish affairs were naturally puzzling to Alvar, and a great deal of the 
business concerned them all. 

“You must remember that you ought to be still taking holiday,” 
said Mr. Stanforth. 

“Ok, yes. At least, Alvar and Jack never let me forget it. But 
indeed I am quite well, and though 1 feel the cold, I don’t think it 
means to hurt me. It is belter to have plenty to do.” 

Cherry’s manner was not unclieerful, and though he looked pale 
-and delicate, there was no longer the appearance of broken health 
and spirits which had marked him at their first acquaintance; but 


203 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

the quick, changeable brightness was gone also. Ho was like one 
carrying a load which took all his strength; but he carried it with- 
out staggering. 

Alvar now came in with Jack, looking Irright and cordial. 

“My brother is teaching me how to be the squire/* he said to 
Mr. Stanforth, with a 'smile, as he put aside the papers to make 
room lor the tray that had been ordered; “but 1 am not a good 
scholar.” 

“ You must go regularly to school, then,” said Mr. Stanforth. 

“Ah,” said Alvar; “ I must know, it seems, about rents, and 
tenants, and freeholds— so many things. But there is something 
that we wish to ask of Mr. Stanforth, is there not, Cherry?” 

“ Yes— we spoke ot it.” 

“ It is that he will try to make a drawing of our father for us, for 
there is none that my brothers like.” 

’ “ 1 will try with pleasure, but I am afraid likenesses, under the 

circumstances, are rarely quite satisfactory. You have a photo- 
graph?” 

Jack produced a very bad daguerreotype, and a photograph taken 
for Cheriton before he left home. 

“ This is a good likeness,” he said; “ hilt Cherry thinks it wants 
fire and spirit.” 

“ 1 will take both,” said Mr. Stanforth, seeing that Cherly had 
turneil aside from the photograph, and took no part in the discus- 
sion. “I will make a little sketch, and when you are in London 
you can tell me wdiat you wish about it. And now 1 think I must 
be getting back to Ashrigg; to-morrow 1 go home.” 

Jack eagerly said that "to-morrow lie was going to London on his 
way to Oxford, and received the longed-for permission to call at 
Kensington. Poor boy! he could not keep himself from looking 
ecstatically happy even while he told Mr. (Stanford), as he walked 
through the park with him, how sorry he was to leave Cheriton with 
so much on his hands. 

Cheriton himself would gladly have kept Jack beside him. He 
was capable of seeing both sides of the difficult question, and was, 
moreover, so individual and independent in his modes of thought 
that home matters were less personal to him. He had, too, his own 
hopes, and had chalked out his own career, so that, young as he 
was, he was a support to Cherry’s spirits, even wiiile more than half 
the reason why his own were less overpowered was that the brother 
who was all in all to him was still left. His presence did not always 
conduce to peace with Bob, tor he had grown away from him. and 
was disposed to lecture him; but though he departed with more 
good advice to his family than was necessary, he left another gap, 
and Cherry, trying to rouse himself from the added feeling of lone- 
liness, went over to Elderthwaite to see the old parson. He had 
been away so long that every familiar place brought fresh associa- 
tions, and he tried to get the first sight of each one over quickh r and 
alone. 

He could not walk past the stables and through the farm-build 
ings without the image of his lather meeting him at every turn. 
Here they had planned a new fence together, in this direction the 
very last walk he had had strength for before leaving home had been 


204 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

taken. How well he remembered then sitting on that bench under 
the stable wall, and watching his father with a sad wonder if he 
should ever sit there again. Ihis was the short way from the station 
by which he used to come home from school. Here his father used 
to meet him— nay, suddenly he recollected, with a memory that 
started into life after lying asleep for years, here he had parted for 
the last time from his mother, and the long-past grief seemed to 
come back in the light of the new one. He said to himself that he 
ought to rejoice in the thought that his parents were once more to- 
gether; but in the strangest way he longed for his long-lost mother 
to comfort him in the new grief of his lather’s death. 

And then he walked on through the fir plantation, across the bit 
of bare, bleak tell into the woods of Elderth waite. And as he 
walked he thought of Jack’s bright hopes, and of that sweet and 
promising future that was to make up to him for all that the past 
had taken from him. Here, by the broken stile and ruinous walk- 
all hope of such a future had been dashed away from Cheriton’s 
heart. Thu memory had no sweetness to temper its pain; and he 
hurried on through the plantation and down tlie lane which led to 
the Vicaragb. As he passed the church he saw I hat some one was 
trimming the ivy round -the windows, and it struck him that they 
had been cleaned, and that the whole place had a somewhat improved 
appearance. A little girl made him a courtesy; she wore a smart 
red flannel hood, and had a clean face; he thought that he had never 
seen an Elderth waite child look so respectable. Nay, as lie passed 
one of the larger cottages, it shone upon him resplendent with white- 
wash, and looking in at the open door, he beheld a row of desks, 
and sundry boys and gills seated thereat, and with curiosity much 
excited by this evidence of reform, he hastened on toward the 
Vicarage. 

CHAPTER 111. 

PLANS AND EXPERIMENTS. 

“I am sick of the hall and the hill, I am sick of the moor and the main.” 

Virginia Seyton had spent her Christmas at Littleton, and after 
returning to London for her Cousin Ruth’s marriage, had come home 
again at the end of January At Littleton, more than one old friend 
had advised her to reconsider her resolve to live at Elderthwaite; 
but Virgina did not feel herself tempted by any proposal of cottage, 
however charming, or companionship, however con genial. She had 
been lonely; unhappy, and forlorn at Elderthwaite; but somehow it 
pulled at her heartstrings. She could not rejoice over all the well- 
ordered services at Littleton, much as they refreshed her spirits, as 
she did over the new hymn which she and Mrs. Clements drilled into 
the Elderthwaite children; and s.lie found herself believing, when 
receiving the correct answers of her former scholars, that there was 
after all “ something ” in the north-count ry intellect, however un- 
trained, that was superior in quality, if not in quantity, to that of 
the south. When she went back to London, common acquaintances 
brought her into contact with the Stanforths. She and Ruth went 
to an evening party at their house, just as Mr. Stanforth and Gipsy 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


205 


relumed from Spain, and were invited to come afterward and see 
the Spanish sketches. Ruth was glad to make all the business that 
pressed on her an excuse for refusing, but Virginia went, and was 
happier than she had been for months in hearing Alvar spoken of,> 
and spoken of in terms of praise. Neither girl w as conscious/)! the 
otlier’s. interest in this meeting — how Gipsy had listened to “some 
one who liad known Jack all his life,” how Virginia watched Alvar’s 
recent companion; but Gipsy’s blushes came in the right place, and 
in spite of her extreme amaze at the idea of Jack in his new 
capacity, Virginia guessed where the spark had been lighted, and 
so could listen fearlessly to the story ol the adventures at Ron da, 
and could look with pleasure at the sketches of which Alvar’s figure 
was a picturesque element. It was a pleasant peep at a new life 
linked with her old one. 

Ruth’s was a very brilliant wedding. Everything was arranged by 
her grandmother; and bridemaids, dresses, breakfast, and even 
church, were all chosen witli exact regard to the correct fashion of 
the moment. Ruth wished it to be all over that she might find her- 
self away with Rupert; then perhaps she would feel at rest. As it 
was, their rapid, interrupted surface intercourse tantalized her al- 
most as much as their occasional interviews in the days of secrecy 
and silence. And when they were alone, Ruth was afraid to go deep. 
Often had she said, “ In my love there shall be perfect confidence; 
there shall be nothing between my soul and his.” And now her 
past transgression, however excusable it might seem, erred against 
this perfect confidence. And Rupert’s “ soul was not at all ready 
to display itself to her, or to liiipself either, partly because he was / 
not serious in his emotions, any more than in his principles; but 
partly also because he not unnaturally considered that when his 
deeds were satisfactory to Ruth, it was quite unnecessary to analyze 
his feelings. So she had no encouragement to confidence, and the 
perfect union for which she had longed, disappointed her, partly 
through her past falsity, but more from the want of any common aim 
or principle to unite them. Ruth was fairly happy; but she was 
the same Ruth still, with a nature that could never be satisfied with- 
out earnestness equaling her own, an earnestness from the purity and 
simplicity of which she had turned aside to seek a sort of consecra- 
tion of life which only a man of high principle and strong purpose 
could really have helped her_to find, in a love which slip thought 
more powerful because it was more regardless of duty, in which 
view she did but follow much teaching and many writers. 

Ruth did not make the confession which would have set her right 
with herself if not with Rupert, she had practiced too much self - 
pleasing to find the courage lor it. She married; and as life went on 
her aspirations would either die into the commonplace she had de- 
spised, or she might be driven to satisfy them elsewhere than with 
Rupert. 

And Virginia, who equally with Ruth idealized life and its 
relations, also found her ideal unfulfilled— unfulfilled, but not 
destroyed. She had lost her lover, but the good and holy life which 
she had thought to lead with him, though its beauty took a sterner 
cast, was possible without him. Life was not pui poseless, though 
it was very difficult, and poor Virginia was diffident of her own 


206 AN ENGLISH SQTTIKE. 

powers, and was, moreover, in many ways ill-fitted to live with 
those whose views of life were uncongenial to her. 

“ If I had more tact 1 should get on better at home; if 1 had bad 
more patience, more -chanty, I should not have quarreled with 
Alvar,” she thought, and with some truth. But when- she came 
back to Elderthwaite it was coming home. Dick and Harry were 
glad to see her; her father said it looked cheerful to have her about 
again; the little house-maid, whom she had taught for an hour on 
Sundays, was enchanted, and had written copies .and learned hymns 
in her absence; while she could not but be welcome to her aunt, 
whom she found suffering from a severe attack of rheumatism, which 
confined her to her room. Virginia had no natural skill in nursing, 
and Miss Seyton was not fond of attentions. But, though she was 
severely uncomplaining, Virginia’s companionship was enlivening, 
and, moreover, while she was incapacitated, her niece was obliged 
to manage the house. She had bought enough bitter experience 
now not to be frightened and startled at the state of things, and she 
perceived how much Miss Seyton had done to keep things straight. 
But the young, fresh influence brightened up the old dependents, 
and she managed, too, to introduce some little comfort. But a piece 
of home work really within her powers came to her in an unexpected 
quarter. Dick’s examination was to take place in about six .weeks, 
and shetound from Harry that he had been really reading for it, 
and to her great surprise and pleasure he did not resent her interest 
in it. Her French, and history, and arithmetic were quite enough 
in advance of Dick’s to make her aid valuable to him, and finding 
how much he was behindhand, spite of some honest though fitful 
efforts, she gave him some lessons with the tutor at Hazelby to 
whom Bob Lester was sent, and as Dick always brought his papers 
to her afterward, there was no question that he actually availed him- 
self of the opportunity. 

As for the old parson, he greeted her with a perfect eff usion of de- 
light. He had come to love her better than anything in the world 
except Cheriton, whose illness had been a real sorrow to him. The 
little improvements had not been allowed to languish— indeed others 
had been projected.. Mr. Clements had not been idle. A poor 
widow, whose continued .respectability, had certainly been partly 
owing to her attachment to Mr. Seyton’s rival or assistant, “ the old 
Methody,” had a niece who had been trained as a pupil-teacher in a 
parish belonging to a friend of Mrs. Ellesmere’s, and, her healilr 
failing, the girl had come to live with her aunt. Hence a proposal 
for a little day-school; and actually a subscription set on foot by Mr. 
Clements.* 

“ bo you see. Miss Seyton,” he had said, “ we have not been 
quite idle in your absence.” 

“ Indeed,” said Virginia, smiling, “ you seem to have done belter 
without me.” 

‘‘No, Miss Seyton, whatever better things we may succeed in 
doing in Elderthwaite in the future, it is your doing that the wish to 
improve had been awakened.” 

Virginia blushed at this magnificent compliment; but it was true. 

* This of course took place before the passing of the Education Act. 


AN ENGLISH SQUIIiE. 207 

•High principle, recommended by gentleness and humility, must in 
the end win its way. 

These various, changes formed a s*.le subject of conversation in a 
meeting that could not fail on many accounts to be trying, when 
Cheriton, as he came up to the Vicarage, met Virginia going in there 
also. He did not want to talk about his own health or homo diffi- 
culties, she could not fail to be conscious; but the parson was only 
restrained, or not restrained, by her presence from lamentations over 
Alvar’s succession, and looked unspeakably wicked when Cherry 
implied that they were getting on smoothly. So the new school 
came. in handy, and Parson JSeyton talked about a “Government 
grant,” and winked at Cherry over his shoulder. 

“ It’s all getting beyond me, Cherry,” he said; “ I’m not the man 
for these new lights.” 

“ You’ll have to get a curate, parson, ’’ said Cherry. 

“ Hay — nay!” said the parson sharply. “ I’ll have no strangers 
prying into all our holes and corners, and raking out the dust. I 
don’t like curates— hate their long coats and long faces.” 

“You might put in the advertisement ‘round and rosy pre- 
ferred,’ ” said Cherry. 

“Hay, nay, my lad; no curates for me, unless you will apply for 
the situation.” 

“Cherry has a very long coat on,” said Virginia, smiling and 
pointiug to his “ ulster.” 

“And not too round a face nowadays, eh? Hever mind, if he 
came here I’d let him wear — ” 

“ A cassock, perhaps,” said Cheriton. “1 feel all the force of 
the compliment. But i think Queenie is the best curate for Elder- 
thwaite at present.” 

Virginia’s heart danced at the familiar brotherly name bv which 
Cheriton had learned from Ruth to call her in the days of her engage- 
ment, but which had never Cecome her home appellation, and some- 
thing in her face made him whisper under his breath as she rose to 
take her leave— 

“ Though Oakby grudges her to you.” 

Virginia hurried away, but she was presently overtaken by 
Cheriton as she paused at a cottage door, and. they walked up the 
iane together, and talked to the Stanforths^ and when Virginia 
praised Gipsy, neither could help a smile of implied comprehension 
and sympathy. 

It was a bright, pleasant day, the puddles and ditches of the 
Elderthwaite hedgerows sparkled in the spring sunshine, the black- 
thorn put out its' shy blossoms on each side. Virginia smiled and 
looked up gayly, and Cherilon’s voice took its natural lively tone as 
he related some of the humors of their Spanish journey. 

“ I must turn off here,” said Cherry, as they came to a stile. But 
Virginia did not answer him, for, leaning against the fence, stood 
Alvar watching them as they approached. A hayrick and tumble- 
down cart shed, and a wagon with its poles turned up in the air, 
formed a strangely incongruous background for his graceful figure, 
his deep mourning giviug him an additional air of picturesque dig- 
nity. 

There was no escape for Virginia. She turned exceedingly pale, 


208 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

but with a self-command that, in Cheritou’s opinion, did ker infin- 
ite credit, she bowed — she had not courage to put out her hand — 
and said timidly — 

“Good-morning/’ 

Alvar’s olive face colored all over; he bowed, for once utterly and 
evidently at a loss, while Cherry plunged into the breach. . 

“ Hallo, Alvar, have you come to look tor me? I have been to 
see Parson Seyton. You have no idea what grand doings there are 
now in Elderthwaite.” 

“ I did not come to look for you,” said Alvar, with some em- 
phasis. 

“ Well, I was coming home.” 

Then Alvar turned, with a sort of haughty politeness hoped that 
Mr. aud Mrs. Seyton were well; and Virginia, in the sweet tones 
unheard for so many months, replied to him, and after shaking 
hands with Cheriton, walked away down the sunny lane, from 
Vvhicli she could not turn aside, and* which afforded no shelter from 
any eyes that might choose to follow her. 

Alvar, however, turned away, and Cherry following, said— 

“ I think a little light will daw T n on* Elderthwaite one day, thanks 
to Virginia.” 

Alvar did not make any answer, and Cheriton was not at all 
sorry to see how much the meeting had disturbed him. He never 
alluded to it again, but whether from any feelings connected with 
it or from the worries of his new position, he wa& less even tempered 
than usual. 

There was much to try him. So many mutters pressed on him, 
and he was so very much at fault as to the way of dealing with 
them. Mr. Lester had kept a considerable portion of his property 
in his own hands; he had also been a most active magistrate, sat 
upon innumerable county committees, and had united in his own 
person the chief lay offices of the parish. In all these capacities he 
had done a considerable amount of useful work, and though no one 
expected Alvar to take up the whole of it, he ought to li<av'e en*" 
deavored to* make himself master of the more necessary parts. 

• But the real defect of Alvar’s nature— the intense pride, that made 
the sepse of being at & disadvantage hateful to him — worked at first 
in a wrong direction. The great effort of bending himself to learn 
to do badly what those around him could do well, was beyond one 
who had never felt the need of repentance, never acknowledged an 
error in himself; nor did the sense of duty to his neighbor, that 
counteracted this tendency in others of his name, appeal to the con- 
science of one who inherited the selfish instincts of the Spanish 
grandee. After the very first he grew impatient of the tasks that 
were so new to him, and yet resentful of any comment on his be- 
havior. He resented the standard to which he would not conform, 
all the more because an unspeakable soreness connected it with Vir- 
ginia’s rejection of him. 

Perhaps this was more hopeful than his former good-humored in- 
difference, but It was with exceeding pain that Cheriton, beiore 
Easter came, began to perceive that though Alvar would let him 
please himself in any special instance, his hopes of exerting any 


AN ENGLISH SQUIKE. 


209 


general inffuuence were vain, and that Alvar would resent the at- 
tempt even from him. 

“Did you expect to make the leopard change liis spots by the 
force of your will, Cherry?” said Mr. Ellesmere to him, when some 
instance had brought this prominently forward. “ You can not 
do it, my boy, and excuse me for saying that 1 think you should 
not try. ’ ’ 

V‘ 1 only wanted to help the leopard to accommodate his coat to 
our climate,” said Cherry, with rather a difficult smile. 

“ He must do that himself when stress of weather shows him the 
need. If he had married, such an influence as your mother’s might 
have come into his life; but, my dear boy, even that could not have 
sufficed, unless it had appealed to something higher.” 

“ I know,” said Cherry slowly. “ 1 know what you mean about 
it. No man ought to stand dictation as to his duty, and we all lay 
down the law to each other. Hut 1 can not break myself of feeling 
that matters here are my own concern.” 

“ 1 think that is a habit of mind common to a great many people 
hereabouts,” said Mr. Ellesmere kindly; “ and after all, what 1 said 
was' only meant as a warning.” 

“ Much needed! But 1 believe Alvar will find things out in time; 
and we uone of us make half enough allowance for him.” - 

Jack came home for a few days at Easter, and there was a final 
discussion and arrangement of plans, which resulted after all in a 
general flitting. Alvar declared that Oakby was too dull without 
his brother, and that he should himself go to London for some time. 
No one could exactly find fault with this scheme, and if he had ex- 
erted himself hitherto to get his new duties in traiu, they would 
have welcomed it, as his resolute avoidance of the {Seytons pro- 
duced social difficulties, and Jack thought Cheritou’s London life 
so much of an experiment as to be glad that he should not have to 
carry it out entirely alone. But they both knew that without anv 
difference that would strike outsiders, there was just the essential 
change from good to had management, from care to neglect, in 
every matter with which the master of Oakby was concerned. 

Nettie was to go to a London boarding-school for a year. This 
was the express desire of Mrs. Lester, who thought this amount of 
“finishing” essential. Lady Ckeriton was choosing the school* 
and the brothers of course cousentcd, though Clieriton felt that it 
was like caging a wild bird, and Alvar remarked with much truth,— 

“ My sister is a woman; it is foolish to send her to school.” 

Nettie wept torrents of tears over Rolla, Buffer, her pon5 r , nay, 
every living creature about the place; hut she did not resist, it was 
part of the plan of life to which she was accustomed. 

If Mrs. Lester herself had not insisted on sending Nettie away, 
the others would have made no proposal which involved a separa- 
tion; but to the 'surprise of them all, she proposed spending flic en- 
suing three montlis-at Whitby. Lady Milford would be there, and 
it had always been an occasional resort of Mrs. Lester’s, and, wjth 
her old favorite maid she declared that she should be perfectly com- 
fortable there; and if she was dull, she would ask Virginia Sey ton 
to stay with her. 

One other member of the family remained to bo disposed of, and 


210 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

while Cheriton and Jack were consulting with each other what 
they could say to their uncle with regard to Bob, he tpok the mat- 
ter into his own hands, and as he walked across the park with 
Cheriton to view some drainage operations which had been begun 
by their father, and which Alvar was very glad to let them superin- 
tend, he remarked suddenly— 

“ Cherry, I wish you would let me go to Canada, or New Zea- 
land, or some such place, and take land. It is the only thing I’m 
fit for.” 

Cheriton was taken by surprise, though the idea had crossed his 
own mind. 

” Do you really wish it?” he said. 

“ Yes,” said Bob. ‘‘I’m not going to try my hand in life at 
things other feliows can beat me at.” 

‘‘ 1’in afraid that rule would limit the efforts of most of us!” 

“ Well,” said Bob, “ l hate feeling like a fool; and besides, 1 
don’t see the good of Latin and Creek. But 1 mean to do something 
that’s some use in the world. 1 approve of colonizing.” 

” Really, Bob,” said Cherry, “ I don’t think you were ever ex- 
pected to go in for more Latin and Greek than would prevent you 
from feeling like a fool. There’s a great deal in what you say; but 
have you thought of a farm in England or Scotland?” 

“Yes, but 1 think that is generally a fine name for doing noth- 
ing. Now, 1 shall have some capital, and I’m big and strong, and 
can make my way. Cherry, don’t you think 1 should have been 
allowed to go?” 

“ Yes, Bob, I think you would; but you are too young to start 
off at once on your own resources.” 

“ Well, I could iro to the agricultural college for a year, and there 
are men out there who take fellows and give them a start. You can 
talk it over with Uncle Cheriion, and if you agree, 1 don’t care for 
the others. ” 

“ Does Nettie know about it?” 

“ Yes,” said Bob; ‘‘ she wouldn’t speak to me for a week, she 
was so sorry. But she came round, and says she shall come out and 
join me. Of course she won’t — she’ll get married.” 

They had reached a little bridge which crossed a stream, on 
either side of which lay the swampy piece of ground which they 
had come to inspect. Looking forward, was the wide panorama of 
heathery hills, known to them with life-long knowledge; looking 
back, tiie wide, white house, in its group of fir-trees, with the park 
stretching away toward the lake. All the woods were tinted with 
light spring green, and the air was full of the song of numberless 
birds, and with that cawing of the rooks, which Cheriton had oiice 
said at Seville was to him like the sound of the waves Xo a person 
born by the sea. 

‘‘ Of course,” said Bob; “ if one went a hundred thousand miles, 
one would never forget this old place.” 

“ No,” said Cheriton; “ nor, 1 sometimes fancy, if one went a 
longer journey still!” 

■“ But I hate it as it is now, and I shall come back when you’re 
Lord Chancellor, and Jack Head Master of Eton.” 

“ Well, Bob,” said Cherry, “ wherever we may any of us go, or 


211 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

whatever we may be, 1 think we can not be really parted, while we 
remember the old place, and all that belongs to it.” 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE DRAGON SLAYER. 

“ Life has more things to dwell on 
Than just one useless pain . 11 

There are few places where the charm of a bright June day is 
felt more perfectly than in a London garden. The force of contrast 
may partly account for this; but The Laurels, as the Stanforths’ . 
house vi as called, was a lovely place in itself, dating from days be- [ 
fore the villas by which it was now almost surrounded. Within its 
old brown sloping walls flourished white and pink acacias, magno- 
lias, wisterias, and quaint trees only found in such old gardens; a 
cork-tree, more curious than beautiful; a catalpa, which once in 
Gipsy’s memory had put out its queer brown and white, blossoms; 
and a Judas-tree, still purple with its lovely flowers. The house, 
like the garden-walls, was built of brown old brick, well draped 
with creepers; and Mr. Stantorth’s new studio had been so cun- 
ningly devised that it harmonized wonderfully with the rest. That 
garden was a very pleasant place in the estimation of a great many 
people, who liked to come and idle away an hour there, and was 
famous for pleasant parties all through the summer; while it was a 
delightful play-place for the little Stanforths, a large party of pict- 
uresque and lively-minded children, who, in spite of artistic frocks 
and hats, and tongues trained to readiness by plenty of home so- 
ciety, were very thoroughly educated and carefully brought up. 
They were a great amusement to Cheriton Lester, who was always 
a welcome guest at The Laurels, and felt himself thoroughly at 
home there. 

Cheriton’s London life was in many ways a pleasant one. He 
found himself in the midst of old friends and schoolfellows, he 
could have as much society as he wished for, he was free of his 
uncle’s house and of the Stanforths’, and he had none of the money 
anxieties which troubled many of those who, like him, were begin 
ning their course of preparation for a legal life. He saw a good deal, 
in and out, of Alvar, who had established himself in town, and was 
an exceedingly popular person in society; and as the obligations 
of his mourning, which he was careful to observe, diminished, was 
full of engagements of all sorts, enjoyed himself greatly, im\ 
thought as little of Oakby as business letters allowed. Lady Cheri- 
ton thought that he ought to have every opportunity of settling, 

“ so much the best thing for all of them,” and arranged her intro- 
ductions to him accordingly; but Alvar walked through snares 
and pitfalls, and did not even get himself talked of in connection 
with any young lady. Cheriton was much less often to be met 
with; he found that he could. not combine late hours, and anything 
like study, and so kept his strength for his more immediate object 
— an object which, however, was slowly changing into an occupa- 
tion. Cheriton soon found out that the pleasures and pains of hard 


212 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

and successful labor were no longer for him; that though he did 
not break down in the warm summer weather, llie winter would 
always be a time of difficulty, and that fiis 'strength would not en- 
dure a long or severe strain — in short, that though reading for the 
bar w T as just as well now as anything else for him, and might, lead 
the way to interests and occupations, he could not ever) aim at the 
career of a successful lawyer. Besides, Loudon air made him un- 
usually languid and listless. 

“ Yes, he is a clever fellow, but lie is not strong enough to do 
much. It is a great pity, but, after all, he has enough to live on, 
and plenty of interests in life,” said Judge Cheriton f and his wife 
made her house pleasant to Cherry, and encouraged him to come 
there at all hours, and no one ever said a word to him about work- 
ing, or gave him good advice, except not to catch cold; while lie 
himself ceased to talk at all about his prospects, but went on from 
day to da}' and took the pleasant things that came to him. And 
sometimes he felt as if his last hope in life was gone — and some- 
times, again, wondered why lie did not care more for such a dis- 
appointment. But now and then, in these days that were so silent 
and self-control led, there came to him an indifference of a nobler 
kind, an inward courage, a consoling trust, the reward of much 
struggling, which a year ago lie could never have brought to bear 
on such a trial. 

Mr. Stan f orth’s presence always gave him a sense of sympathy, 
and he spent so many hours at The Laurels, that his aunt suspected 
him of designs on Gipsy, though Jack’s secret, preserved in liis 
absence, was likely to ooze out now that the end of the Oxford term 
had brought him to London for a few days, previous to joining a 
reading party with some of his friends. • 

The Laurels, with its pretty garden, might be a pleasant resting- 
place for Cheriton, but it was a very Arcadia, a fairyland to Jack, 
when he found his way there late on one splendid afternoon, so shy 
that he had walked up and down the road twice before he rang the 
bell, happy, uncomfortable, and conscious all at once, looking at 
Gipsy, who had- just, come home from a garden-party, in a most 
becoming costume of cream color and crimson, but quite unable to 
say a word to her, as she sat under the trees, and fanned herself 
with a great black fan, appealing to Alvar, who w 7 as there with 
Cheriton, whether she had quite forgotten her Spanish skill. Gipsy 
was very happy, and not a bit shy as she peeped at her solemn 
young lover over the top of the fan, and laughed behind it at .lack’s 
look of disgust when Cherry’ remarked that he had grown since 
Easter. 

‘'Don’t be spiteful, Cherry,” said Mr. Stanforth, with a smile. 
“ Shall w T e come and see the picture?” 

Jack and Gipsy were*left to the last as they came up toward the 
house, and she made a little mischievous gesture of measuring her- 
self against him. 

“ Yes, I think it’s true!” 

“ Well,” said Jack gruffly, though liis eyes sparkled, “1 shall 
leave off growing some time, 1 suppose. I say, are you goingio 
dine at my aunt’s to-morrow?” 

*“ Yes,” said Gipsy. “ Lady Cheriton ha's been here, and she 


213 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

brought your sister. How handsome she is; but she was so silent. 
I was afraid of her, 1 wonder if she liked me,” said Gypsy, blush- 
ing in her turn. 

“ Shy with Nettie?” exclaimed Jack. “ You might as well be 
shy of a wild cat. She doesn’t like any one much but Bob and ber 
pets.” 

“Ah, young ladies grow as well as young gentlemen,” said 
Gipsy. “Next year— ” 

“ Yes; next year — ” said Jack; but' Gipsy opened the studio 
door, and ended the conversation. 

Mr. Stanforth’s studio was arranged with a view more to the 
painting of pictures than to the display of curtains, carpets, and 
China; but it was still a pretty and pleasant place, with a few rare 
works of art by other hands than those of its owner. There were 
few finished pictures of Mr. Stanforth’s there then; but one large 
canvas on which he was working, and, besides various portraits in 
different stages, the drawing o£ Mr. Lester which Jack had not 
hitherto seen. Mr. Stanforth brought it forward, and asked him to 
make any comment that occurred to him. It was a fine drawing of 
a fine face r and brought out forcibly the union of size and strength 
with beauty which none of the sons fully equaled, though there 
might be more to interest in all their faces. For, after all, the lit- 
tle imperfections of expression, that which was wanting as well as 
that which was present in the coming out and going in, the pleas- 
ures, the duties, and the failures, the changes of mood and temper, 
the smiles, and the frowns of daily life, had made the individual 
man, and could not be shown in a likeness so taken. It was a pict- 
ure that would satisfy them better as the years went by. Indeed 
Alvar thought it perfect, and Jack could hardly say that he saw 
anything wanting; but Cherry, after many praises and some hesita- 
tion, had said, “ Yes, it is very like, but it is as if one saw him from 
a distance. Perhaps that is best.” 

After this picture had been put away, Jack began to look round 
and to relieve the impression made on him by a little artistic conver- 
sation, evidently carefully studied from the latest Oxford authori- 
ties. lie looked at the pictures on the wall, found fault so correctly 
with what would have naturally been pleasing to him, and admired 
so much what a tew months before he would have thought hideous, 
that Cheri ton’s eyes sparkled with fun, and Alvar, for once appre- 
ciating the humor of the situation, said — 

“ We must ask Jack to write a book about the pictures at Oakby ;” 
while Gipsy, seeing it all, laughed, spite of herself. 

“ Ah, Gipsy, he is carrying liis lady’s colors , like a true knight,” 
said Cherry softly, as Jack faced round and inquired — 

“ What are you laughing at?” 

“Who lectures on art at Oxford, Jack?” said Cherry. “What 
a first-rate fellow he must be!” 

“ Ah. lie is indeed a great teacher,” said Alvar, “ who has taught 
Jack to love art.” 

“ A mighty teacher,” said Cherry, under his breath. 

“Of course,” said Jack, “as one sees more of the world, one 
comes to take an interest in new fields of thought.” 

“ Why, yes,” said Gipsy, recovering from Cherry’s words, and 


214 AH EHGLISH SQUIRE. 

flying to the rescue, 41 we all learned a great deal about art at 
Seville. ” 

“ My, dear,”, said Mrs. Stanforth, “ aren’t you going to show 
them the knights?” 

For she thought to herselt that if a year was to pass before Jack’s 
intentions coukl meet with an acknowledgment, his visits bad better 
be few and tar between, especially in the presence of Cherry’s mis- 
chievous encouragement. ‘‘Mr. Stanforth himself being as bad,” 
as she afterward remarked to him. 

Now, however, Mr. Stanforth turned his easel round and dis- 
played the still unfinished picture for which he had begun to make 
sketches in Spain, when struck with the contrast of his new ac- 
quaintances, and with the capabilities of their appearance for pict- 
uresque treatment. 

The picture was to be called “ One of the Dragon Slayers,” and 
represented a woodland glade in the first glory of the earliest sum- 
mer-blue sky, fresh green, while blossoms, and springing bluebells 
and primroses, all irufull and yet delicate sunshine— a* scene which 
might have stood for many a poetic description from Chaucer to 
Tennyson, a very image of nature, the same now as in the days of 
Arthur. 

Dimly visible, as if he had crawled away among the brambles and 
bracken to die, w T as the gigantic form of the slain dragon, wdiile, 
newly arrived on the scene, having dismounted from his horse, 
which was held by a page in the distance, was a knight in festal 
attire — a vigorous graceful presentment of Alvar’s dark face and 
tall figure— who with one hand drew toward him the delivered maid- 
en, a fair, slender figure in the first dawn of youth, who clung to 
him joyfully, while he laid the other in eager gralitude on the 
shoulder of the dr agon -slayer, who, manifestly wounded in the en- 
counter, was 1 aning against a tree-trunk, and who, as he seemed to 
give the maiden back io her lover, with the other hand concealed in 
his breast a knot of the ribbon on her dress; thus hinting at the 
story, which after all was better told by the peculiar beaming smile 
of congratulation, the look of victory amid strife, of conquest over 
self and suffering — a look of love conquering pain, which was the 
real point of the picture, 

Jack stood looking in silence, and uttering none of his newly-ac- 
quired opinions. 

“ Is it right, Jack?” said Mr. Stanforth. 

“ Yes, 1 know,” said Jack briefly; and then, “Every one will 
know Alvar’s portiait. And wdio is the lady?” 

“She is a little niece of mine -almost a child,” said Mr. Stan- 
forth; while Cheriton interposed — 

“ It is not a group of photographs. Jack. Of course the object 
was the idea of the picture, not our faces ” 

“ Well, Cherry,” said Mr. Stanforth smiling, “your notion of 
sitting for your picture partakes of the photographic. You did not 
help me by calling up the dragon-slayer’s look;” 

“ That was for the artist to supply,” said Cherry; “ but it seems 
to me exactly how the knight ought to have looked.” 

“ For my part,” said Alvar, 41 1 should uot have liked to have 
been too late. ” 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 215 

“ It is very beautiful,” said Jack; “ but 1 don’t think 1 approve 
of false medievalism. At that date these fellows would have 
fought, and the best man would have had the girl.” 

“ Tray, at what date do you fix the dragon?” said Cherry. 

“Jack is as matter-of-fact as the maiden herself,” said Mrs. 
Stantorth, “ who will not be happy because her uncle will not tell 
her if the knight sot well and married somebody else.” 

“ No— no, mamma,” said one of the Stanforth girls, “ he did no 
such thing; he was killed in King Aitliur’s last battle. We settled 
it yesterday— we thought it was nicer.” 

“ You don’t think he gave in to the next dragon?” said Cherry, 
half to tease her. 

“No, indeed, that knight never gave in. Did he, papa— did 
he?” 

“ My dear Minnie, 1 am not prepared with my knight’s history. 
There they are, and I leave them to an intelligent public, who can 
settle whether my object was to paint sunlight on primroses, ora 
smile on a wounded knight’s face — very hard matters both.” 

“ Don’t you really like it?” said Gipsy aside to Jack. 

“ Oh, yes,” said Jack uneasily, “ I have seen him look so, 1 know 
what your father means. But I hate it. I’d rather have had a 
picture of him as he used to be, all sunburnt and jolly. Yes, 1 
know, it’s the picture, not Cherry; but 1 don’t like it.” 

Gipsy demurred a little, and they fell into a long talk in the twi- 
light garden. Jack kept his promise, he did not “ make love ” to 
her, but never, even to Cheriton, had he talked as he talked then, 
for if he might not talk of the future, he could at least make 
Gipsy a sharer in all his past. When Cheriton came out upon- them 
to call Jack away, they looked at him with half -dazzled eyes, as if 
he were calling them back from fairyland. 

The dinner-party at Lacly Cheriton’s offered no such chances, " 
though it was a gathering together quite unexpected by some of the 
party. Lady Cheriton, when the question of a school for Nettie 
had been discussed, had renewed her offer of having her to share 
the studies of her younger daughters; and Cheriton, who thought 
that Nettie in a London boarding-school would be very troublesome 
to others and very unhappy herself, had succeeded in getting the 
plan adopted. So here she was, dignified and polished, in her long 
black dress, and bent, so said her aunt, in a silent and grudgiug 
fashion, on acquiring sufficient knowledge to hold her own among 
other girls. She was wonderfully handsome, and so tall that her 
height and presence marked her out as much as her intensely red and- 
white complexion and yellow hair. There, too, were Virginia and 
her brother Dick, Cherry being guilty of assuring his aunt that 
there was no reason why Alvar should not meet them. For Dick’s 
examination had at length been successfully passed, and an arrange- 
"ment had been made that he should board with some friends of Mr. 
Stanf orth’s, and Virginia had availed herseU of an invitation from 
Lady Cheriton to come to London with him. 

“ You did not tell me she was coming,” said Alvar angrily to 
Cheriton. 

“ It is impossible that you jshould avoid so near a neighbor,” re- 
plied Cherry. 


216 AN ENGLISH SQUIKE. 

“ I do not like it,” said Alvar; and the effect on him was to shake 
his graceful self-possession, make him uncertain of what he was 
saying, and watch Virginia as she talked to Cherry of Dick’s pros- 
pects, with a look that was no more indifferent than the elaborate 
politeness of Jack’s greeting to Miss Stanforth. She was more self- 
con trolled, but she missed no word or look. Hut if Cheiiton had 
played a trick on his brother, he himself received a startling sur- 
prise when Mr. and Mrs. Rupert Lester were announced. ‘‘You 
can not avoid meeting your cousins ” was as true as his excuse to 
Alvar; but he could not help feeling himself watched; and as for 
Kuth, her brilliant, expressive face showed a consciousness which 
perhaps she hardly meant to conceal from him as she looked at him 
with all the past in her eyes. Ruth liked excitement, and the sit- 
uation was not quite disagreeable to her; but while her look thrilled 
Clieriton through and through, tlie'fact that she could give it, broke 
the last thread of his bondage to her. She made him feel with a 
curious revulsion that Rupert was his own cousin, and that she had 
tried to make him forget that she was his cousin’s wife; and as, 
being a man, he attributed far too distinct a meaning to the glance 
of an excitable; sentimental girl, it repelled him, though the pain of 
the repulsion was perhaps as keen as any that she had made him 
suffei. He did not betray himself, and it was left to Jack to frown 
like a thunder-cloud. 

When Cheriton came out of the dining-room, Nettie pursued him 
into a corner, and began abruptly— 

“ Cherry, 1 want to speak to you. When Jack went to Spain did 
he tell you anything about me?” 

“ Nothing that 1 recollect especially,” said Cherry, surprised. 

“ Well, 1 am going to tell you about it. Mind, I think I was per- 
fectly right, and Jack ought to have known 1 should be.” 

“ Have you and Jack had a quarrel, then?” 

“Yes,” said Nettie, standing straight upright and making her 
communication as she looked down on Cherry, as he sat- on a low 
chair. “ 1 taught Dick to pass his examination.” 

“You!” 

“Yes. You know he wouldn’t work at anything, and 1 used to 
make him come and say his lessons to me— the kings of England, 
you know, and the rivers, and populations, and French verbs. 
Well, then, if he didn’t know them, I made him learn them till 
he did. But of course he didn’t wish any one to know, so we had 
to get up early, and sit in the hay loft, or down by the bridge. 
1 could not help the boys knowing that Dick and 1 went out 
together, and at last Jack found us in Clement’s hay loft. Dick 
ran away, but Jack was very angry with me, and insulted me; and 
Cherry — lie went and told papa, and they sent me to London. But 
I never told the reason, because 1 had promised Dick. Now, 
Cherry, wouldn’t it have been very wrong to give up the chance of 
doing Dick good because Jack chose to be ridiculous? It just 
made him succeed, and perhaps lie will owe it to me that he is a re- 
spectable person , and earns his living. You would have helped him, 
wouldn’t you?” 

“ Why, yes,” said Cherry; “ but that is not quite the same 
thing.” 


217 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ Becuase 1 am a girl. Cherry, 1 think it would be mean to have 
let that stop me. But-now he is through, I shall never do it again, 
of course; and, Cherry, indeed I meant it jdst as it he had been a 
plowboy.” 

Here Nettie hung her tall head, and her tone grew less defiant. 

“ But, after all, Nettie, you should not have done what you knew 
granny and father would pot like,” said Cherry, much puzzled 
wliat to say to. her. 

“ It was because papa never knew that 1 told you'' said Nettie 
rapidly. 

Cheriton asked a few more questions, and elicited that Nettie had, 
very early in their intimacy, taken upon herself the reform of -Dick, 
and had domineered over him with all the force of a strong will 
over a weak one. Nettie had acted in perfect good faith, and had 
defied her brother’s attack on her; but as the lessons went on, her 
instinct had taught her that Dick found her attractive, and came to 
learn to please himself, not her. The girl had all the self-confi- 
dence of her race, and having set her mind on what she called 
“ doing good " to Dick, she defied her own consciousness of his 
motives, having begun in kindness dashed with considerable con- 
tempt. But lazy Dick had powers of his own, and by the time of 
her quarrel with Jack, Nettie had felt herself on a dangerous 
ground. “ 1 sha’n’t marry — no one is like our boys,” she said to 
herself; but there was just a little traitorous softening and an in- 
definite sense of wrong-going which had made her seek absolution 
from Cheriton, and with the peculiar absence of folly, which was a 
marked characteristic of the slow-thinking twins, she gave herself 
the protection of his knowledge. 

Cheriton ’s impulse was to take up Jack’s line and give her a good 
scolding, but he was touched by her appeal, and had learned to 
weigh his words carefully. He said something rather lame and 
inadequate about being more particular in future, but he gave Net- 
tie’s hand s kind little squeeze, and she felt herself oil her own 
mind. It had been a curious incident, and had done much to make 
Nettie into a woman — too much of a woman to look on her protege 
with favoring eyes. Dick, too, was likely to find other interests, 
but Nettie had helped to give him a fair start, and her scorn of his 
old faults could never be quite forgotten. 


CHAPTER V. 

A NEW SUGGESTION. 

“ Once, remember, 

You devoted soul and mind 
To the welfare Of your brethren 
And the service of your kind: 

Now what sorrow can you comfort?” 

Soon after the scenes recorded in the last; chapter, Alvar received 
a letter from Mrs. Lester, in which she thanked him, in a dignified 
and cordial manner, for his proposal that the home at Oakby should 
go oh as usual, but said she did not consider that her residence 
there would be for the happiness of any one. During her son’s 


218 A N ENGLISH -SQUIRE. 

married life she had lived in a house at Ashrigg, which was part of 
the Lester property, and was called The Rigg. This was now again 
vacant, and she proposed to take it, making a home for Nettie, and 
tor any of her grandsons who chose so to consider it. The great 
sorrow of her dear son’s death would be more endurable to her, she 
said, anywhere but at Oakby. The neighborhood of the Hubbards 
would provide friends for herself and society for Nettie, who would 
be very lonely at Oakby in her brothers’ constant abseuces. Alvar 
was sincerely sorry. He was accustomed to the idea of a family 
home being open to all, and did not, in any way, regard himself as 
trammeled by his grandmother’s presence there, while Cheriton 
was utterly taken by surprise, and hated the additional change and 
uprooting. He did not think the step unwise, especially as regarded 
Nettie, but be marveled at his grandmother’s energy in devising 
and resolving on it. He had expected a great outcry from Nellie, 
but she proved not to be unprepared, and said briefly, “ that she 
liked it better thau staying at home now.” 

“ But you will not desert me?” said Alvar. Shall 1 drive you 
too away from your home?” 

“ No,” said Cherry. “ No, I’ll come home for the holidays, and 
the boys, too, if you will have them; though 1 suppose granny will 
want to see us all sometimes.” 

“ I wisli that-I could take you home now,” said Alvar. 1 
think you are tired with London— you see too many people.” 

Cheriton colored a little at the allusion, but he disclaimed any 
wish to leave London then, shrinking indeed from breaking 
through the externals of his profession. It ended by Alvar going 
.down to meet his grandmother at Oakby, and to make arrange- 
ments for the change, during which lie proved himself so kind, 
courteous, and helptul to her, that he quite won her heart ; and 
Nettie, on her return; was astonished at hearing Alvar’s judgment 
deterred to, and “ my grandson ” quoted as an authority, on several 
occasions. 

Jack, after a few days in London, joined a reading party for the 
first weeks of the vacation; and Bob, on his return from the gentle- 
man who was combining for him the study of farming and of polite 
literature* joined Nettie in London, and took her down to Ashrigg; 
so that the early part of August found only Cheriton and Alvar at 
Oakby. 

Cherry liked this well enough, tor though the house could not 
but seem forlorn and empty to him, daily life was always pleasant 
with Alvar, and he would have gladly helped him through all the 
arrears of business that came to hand. Thcsp were considerable, 
for Mr. Lester’s subordinates had not been trained to go alone, and 
none of them had been allowed universal superintendence, Cheri- 
ton thought that Alvar required such assistance, and that ho ought 
to have an agent with more authority; but oddly enough he did not 
take to the proposal, and in the meantime he made mistakes, kept 
decisions waiting, failed to recognize the relative importance of 
different matters, and, still worse, of different people. 

One afternoon, toward the end .of August, Cheriton went over X 
Elderth waite. What with business at home, oi^peditions to Ash- 
rigg, and a great many colic on Ills attention from more immediate 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 219 

neighbors, he had not seen very much of the parson, and as he 
neared the Rectory he -beheld an unwonted sight in the field ad join- 
ing^namely, some thirty or forty children drinking tea, under the 
superintendence of Virginia and one of the Miss Ellesmeres. 

“Hallo, Cherry/ said the parson, advancing to meet him; 
“ where have you been? Seems to me we must have a errand— what 
d’ye call it? — rural-collation before we can get a sight of you/’ 

“As you never invited me to the rural collation, I was not aware 
of its existence,” said Cherry laughing, as V irginia approached him. 

“Oh, Cherry, stay and start some games, ”she said. “ You know 
they are so ignorant, they never even saw a school-feast before. ” 

“ Then, Virginia, 1 wonder at you for spoiling the last traces of 
such refreshing simplicity. Introducing juvenile dissipation! /Well, 
it doesn’t seem as it the natural child wanted much training to ap- 
preciate plum-cake!” 

“ No; but if you could make tbc hoys run for halfpence—”. 

“ Yon think they won’t know a halfpenny when they see one.” 

“ Do have some tea!” said Lucy Ellesmere, running up to him. - 
“ Perhaps you are tired, and Virginia has given them beautiful tea, 
and really they’re very nice children, considering .” 

So Cherry stayed, and advanced the education of the Elderthwaite 
youth by teaching them to bob for cherries, and other aits of polite 
society, ending by showing them how to give three cheers for the 
parson, and three times three for Miss Seyton; and while Virginia 
was dismissing her flock with final hunches of gingerbread, the par- 
son called him into the house. 

“ Poor lassie!” he said; “ she is fond of the children, and thinks 
a great deal of doing them good; but it’s little good she can do in 
the face of what’s coming!” 

“flow do you mean?” said Cheriton. • “ Is anything specially 
amiss?” 

“ Come in and have a pipe. A glass of wine won’t come amiss 
after so much tea and gingerbread.” 

They went into the dining-room, and the parson poked up the lire 
into a blaze, for even August afternoons were not too warm at El- 
derlhwaite for a fire to be pleasant, and as be subsided in his arm- 
chair, he said gravely — 

“ Eh, Cherry, we Seytons have been a bad lot — a bad lot— and the 
end of it’ll be we shall be kicked out of the country.” 

“ Oh, I hope not!” said Cherry, quite sincerely. ** Wlrat is the 
mailer 1 /’ 

“ Well, look round about you. Is there a wall that’s rfiended, or 
a plantation preserved as it ought to be? Look at the timber — what 
is there left of it?— and what’s felled lies rotting on the ground for 
want of carting. There’s acres of my brother’s hay never was led 
tilt the lain came aud spoiled it. Look at the cottages. Queenie 
gets the windows mended, but she can’t make the roofs water tight. 
Look at I hose woods down by the stream, why, there’s not a head 
of game in them, and once they were the best pi eserves in the coun 
try!” 

“ Things are bad, certainly,” said Cherry. 

“ And yet, Cherry, we’ve loved the place and never have sold 
an acre of it, spite of mortgages and everything. - Well, my brother’s 


220 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

not long for this world. He has been failing and failing before his 
time, and though he has led a decent life enbugh, things have gone 
more to the bad with years of doing nothing, than with all the 
scandals of my father’s time.” 

“ Is Mr. Seyton ill?” said Cheriton. 

“ Not ill altogether; but mark my words, he’ll not last long. 
Well, at last, he was so hard up that he wrote to Roland— and L know, 
Cheriton, it was, the bitterest pill he ever swallowed, and asked his 
consent to selling Uplands Farm. What does Roland do but write 
back and say, with all his heart; so soon as it came into his hands 
he should sell every acre, house and lands, advowson of living and 
all, and pay his debts. He hated the place, he said, and would 
never live there. Sell it to the highest bidder. There were plenty 
ot fortunes made in trade, says he, that would give anything for 
land position. So there, the old place’ll go into the hands of some 
purse-proud stranger. But not the church— he sha’n’t go restoring 
and improving that with his money. l : m only fifty -nine, 'and a 
good life yet, and I’ll stick in the church till I’m put into the church- 
yard!” 

Cherry smiled, it was impossible to help it; but the parson’s story 
made him very sad. He knew well enough that it was a righteous 
retribution, that Roland’s ownership would be a miserable thing for 
every soul in Elderthwaite, and that the most purse-proud of stran- 
gers would do something to mend matters: and yet his heart ached 
at the downfall, and his quick imagination pictured vividly how 
completely the poor old parson would put himselt in the wrong, and 
what a disastrous state of things would be sure to ensue. 

“I’d try and not leave so much ‘ restoration ’ for any stranger to 
do,” he said. 

“ Eh, what’s the good?” said the parson. “ She had better let it 
alone for the ‘ new folks.’ ” 

“ Nay,” said Cherry, “ you can not tell if the ‘ new folks,’ as you 
call them, will be inclined for anything of the sort, and all these 
changes may n.ot take place for years. It doesn’t quite pay to do 
nothing because life is rather more uncertain to one’s self than to 
other people.” 

Cheriton spoke half to himself, and the parson went on with his 
own train of thought. 

“ Ay, I’ll stick to the old place, though 1 thought it a heavy clog 
round my neck once; and if you knew all the ins and outs of that 
transaction, you’d say, maybe, 1 ought to be kicked out of it now.” 

46 No, 1 should not,” said Cherry, who kucw, perhaps, more of 
the Elderthwaite traditions than the parson imagined. “ Things are 
vs- they are, and not as they might have been, and perhaps you 
could do more than any one olsc to mend matters.” 

- The parson looked into the fire, with an odd, half humble, half 
comical expression, and Cherry said, abruptly— 

” Bo you think '3eyt,on would sell Uplands to me?” 

** To you? ' What the dickens do you- want with it?” 

" Why— 1 don’t think it would be a bad speculation, andl should 
like, 1 think, to have it ” 

” What? Does your brother make Oak by too hot to hold you?” 

“ No, indeedo He is all that is kind to me,” said Cherry indig- 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 221 

nantly. “ Every one misconstrues him. But 1 should like to have 
a bit of land hereabouts, all the same.” 

“ Well, you had better ask my brother yourself. He may think 
himself lucky, for 1 don’t know who would buy a bit of land like 
that wedged in between the two places. Ah, here’s Queenie to say 
•good-night. Well, my lassie, are you pleased wiih your sport?” 

“ Yes, uncle; and the children were very good.” 

Cheriton walked a little way with Virginia, beyond the turning 
where they parted from Lucy Ellesmere. He found that she was 
unaware or the facts which the parson had told him, and though f 
somewhat uneasy about her father, very much disposed to dwell on 
the good accounts of Dick and Harry, and on the general awaken- 
ing in the place that seemed to demand improvements. Oakby 
offered a ready-made pattern, and other farmers had been roused by ' 
Mr. Clements to wish for changes, while some, of course, were 
ready to oppose them. 

“ They begin to wish Uncle James would have a curate, Cherry,” 
she said; “ but 1 don’t think he ever will find one that he could get 
on with. No one who did not know all the ins and outs of the place 
could get. on either with him or with the people.” 

“It would be difficult,” said Cheriton thoughtfully; “ yet 1 do 
beiieve that a* great deal might be done for parson as well as people. ” 

“ Ah, Cherry,” said Virginia, with a smile, ‘‘if you hadn’t got 
another vocation, Uncle James would let you doanytlitng you liked. 

1 wish you were a clergyman, and could come and be curate of El- 
derthwaite; for you are the only person who could tit into all the 
corners. ’ ’ 

Virginia spoke in jest, as of an impossible vision, but Cheriton 
answered her with unexpected seriousness. 

“ It would be hard on Elderth waite to put up with a failure, and 
an offering would not be worth much which one had waited to make 
till one had nothing left worth giving; I’m afraid, too, my angles 
are less accommodating than you suppose — ask Alvar.” 

Cherry finished his sentence thoughtlessly, and was recalled by 
Virginia’s blush; but she said as they parted, “ That is a safe ref- 
erence for you.” 

Cheriton laughed ; but as he walked homeward he turned arid look- 
ed back on the tumble-down, picturesque village at his feet. Loud, 
rough sounds of a noisy quarrel in the little street came to his ears, 
and some boys passed Him manifestly the worse for- drink, though 
they pulled, themselves up and tried to avoid his notice. It was not 
quite a new idea which Virginia had put ihto shape; hut as the steep 
hill forced him to slacken his steps, he could not see that the strength 
which had proved insufficient for a more selfish object was likely to 
be wortli consecrating to the service of his neighbors,. 

CHAPTER VI. 

A IN E W A M B l T ION. 

“ Like a young courtier of the king’s— like the king’s young courtier.” 

In the first week of September Jack came home, and Bob also 
came over from Ashrigg to assist in demolishing the partridges. 


222 AN ENGLISH SQTJ1KE. 

The empty, lonely house affected the spirits of the two lads in a way 
neither of them had foreseen ; the unoccupied drawing-room, the 
absence of Nettie’s rapid footsteps, the freedom from their grand- 
mother’s strictures on diess and deportment — all seemed strange and 
unnatural ; and when they were not absolutely out shooting, they 
hung about disconsolately, and grumbled to Cheriton over every lit- 
tle alteration. Jack, indeed, recovered himself after a day or two, 
but he looked solemn, and intensified Cherry’s sense that things 
were amiss, strongly disapproving of hi^ principle of non* interfer- 
ence. He contrived, too, whether innocently or not, to ask ques- 
tions that exposed Alvar’s ignorance of the names and qualities of 
places and people, and betrayed delays in giving orders, misconcep-* 
tions of requirements, and many a lapse from ordei and method. 
Moreover, the way in which some of the excellent old dependents 
showed their loyalty to the old reyime, was by doing nothing with- 
out orders. Consequently, a hedge remained unmended till the 
cows got through into a plantation, and ate the tops off the young 
trees— “ Mr. Lester had given no order on the subject;” and a 
young horse was thrown down and broke his knees through Mr. 
Lester desiring the wrong person to exercise him. Then, of two 
candidates for a situation, Alvar often managed to choose the wrong 
one, and with the sort of irritability that seemed to be growing on 
him would not put up with suggestions. 

“What?” said Jack; “one of those poaching, thieving Greens 
taken on as stable-boy! And Jos, too— the woist of the lot! Why, 
he has been in prison twice. A nice companion for all the other 
lads about the place! 1 saw little Sykes after him this morning. 1 
should have thought you would have stopped that , Cherry, at least 1” 

“ I did not know of it, Jack, till too late,” said Cherry quietly. 

“ Well,” 3 aid Jack, driving his hands into his pockets and frown- 
ing fiercely, “ 1 don’t think it’s right to let such things pass with- 
out a protest. Something will happen that can not be undone. I 
don’t approve of systems by which people’s welfare is thrown into 
the hands of a few; but if they are— if you arc those few, it's— it’s 
more criminal than many things of which the law takes cognizance, 
to neglect their rrlerest It’s destroying the last relics of reality, 
and bringing the vholc social edifice to destruction.” 

“ What ifihink,” said Bob, “ is that if a man’s a gentleman, and 
has been accustomed to see things in a proper point of view, he acts 
accordingly.” 

“ A gentleman! A mao’s only claim to be a gentleman is that he 
recognizes the whole brotherhood of humanity and his duties as a 
human being.” 

“ Come, 1 don’t know,” said Bob, not quite sure where these ex- 
pressions were leading him. 

“ His duty to hi' neighbor,” said Cheriton. 

“ You worry you re jlf fifty times too much about it all,” said 
Jack, with vehement inconsistency. 

" Well, perhaps I do,” said Cheriton, glad to turn the conversa- 
tion, “ Come, tell me how you got ou in Wales, 1 have never heard 
a word of it,” 

Jack looked at him for a moment, and with something of an effort 
began to talk about his reading party; but presently he warmed with 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 223 

the topic, and Cherry brightened into animation at the sound of 
familiar names and former interests; they began to laugh over old 
jokes, and quarrel over old subjects of disputation: and they were 
talking fast and eagerly against each other, with a sort of chorus 
from Bob, when, looking up, Cherry suddenly saw Alvar standing 
before them with a letter in his hand. 

He was extremely pale, but his eyes blazed with such intensity of 
wrath, he .came up to them with a gesture expressive of such pas- 
sion, that they all started up, while he burst out— • 

“ 1 have to tell ) r ou that 1 am scorned, injured, insulted. My 
.grandfather has died—” 

“ Your grandfather, Don Guzman? Alvar, 1 am sorry,” ex- 
claimed Cheriton; but Alvar interrupted him — 

“ Sorrow insults me! 1 learn that he has made his will, that he 
leaves all to Manoel, that 1 — 1, his grandson— am not fit to be his 
heir, ‘ since 1 am a foreigner and a heretic, ’and unfit to be the owner 
of Spanish property/ ” 

“ That seems very unjust, ” said Cheriton, as Alvar paused for a 
moment. 

” Unjust!” cried Alvar. ”1 am the victim of injustice. Here 
and there — it is the same thing. 1 have been silent— yes, yes — but 1 
will not bear it. I will be what 1 please, myself — there, here, every- 
where!” 

“Nay, Alvar,” said Cherry gently; “ here, at least, you have 
met with no injustice.” 

“ And why?” cried Alvar, with the sudden abandonment of pas- 
sion which now and then broke through his composure. “ You are 
doubtless too honorable to plot and scheme; but your thoughts and 
your wishes, are they not the same— the same as this .most false and 
unnatural traitor, who has stolen from me my inheritance and my 
grand lather’s love? What do you wish, my brothers —wish in your 
hearts— would happen to the intruder, the stranger, who takes your 
lands from you? Would you not see me dead at your feet?” 

‘‘We never wished you were dead,” said Bob indignantly, as 
Alvar walked about the room, threw out his hands with vehement 
gestures, stamped his foot, and gave way to a violence of expression 
that would have seemed ludicrous to his brothers but for the fury 
of passion, which evidently grew with every moment, as if the in- 
jury of years was finding vent. All the strong temper of hts father 
seemed roused and expressed with a rush of vindictive passion, his 
southern blood and training depriving him at once of self-conscious- 
ness and self-control. 

“ What matter what you wish? Am I not condemned to a life 
which I abhor, to a place that is hateful to me, despised ‘by one 
whose feet I would kiss, disliked by you all, insulted by those who 
should be my slaves? What is this country to me, or 1 to it? I 
care not for your laws, your magistrates, your people— who hate 
me, who would shoot me if they dared. And this — this — has lost 
me the place where 1 was as good as others. I lose my home for 
this— for you who stand together and wonder at me. i curse that 
villain who has robbed me; 1 curse the fate that has made me doubly 
an outlaw; most of all, 1 curse my .father, whose neglect—” 


224 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ Silence!” said Cheriton; “ you do not speak such words in our 
presence.” 

The flood of Alvar’s words, half Spanish, halt English, had fairly 
silenced the three brothers with amazement. Now he faced round 
furiously on Cheriton — 

“ I will speak — ” 

“ You will not/’ said Cheriton, grasping hi3 hand, and looking 
full in his face. “ You forget yourself, Alvar. Don’t say what we 
could never forget or forgive.” 

But Alvar flung him off with a violence and scorn that roused the 
two lads to fury, and made Cheriton’s ow r n blood tingle as Jack 
sprung' forward— 

“ I won’t have that,” he said, in a tone as low as Alvar’s was 
high, but to the full as threatening. 

“ I’ll give you a licking if you touch my brother,” shouted Bob, 
with a rough, school -boy enforcement of the threat. 

” Hush!” said Cheriton; ” for God’s sake, stop— all of you! We 
are not boys now, to threaten each other. Stop, while there is time. 
Stand back, 1 say, Jack, and be silent!” 

The whole thing had passed in half a minute: Alvar’s own furi- 
ous gesture had sobered him, and he threw himself into a seat; while 
Cheriton’s steady voice and look controlled the two lads, and gave 
Jack time to recollect himself. 

There was a moment’s silence. Then Alvar stood up, bowed 
haughtily, like a duelist after the encounter, and walked out of the 
room. Jack, after a minute, broke into an odd, harsh laugh, and, 
pushing open the window, leaned out of it. 

“ One w r ants air. That was a critical moment,” he said. 

” I’ll not stand that sort of thing; I'll go back to Aslrrigg; I’ll 
not come here again,” said Bob. “ What did you stop us for, 
Cherry, when we were going to show him a piece of our minds?” 

“ 1 did not think anybody’s mind was lit to be exhibited,” said 
Cheriton. “ Don’t begin to quarrel with me too, Bob; and do not; 
.go away to-day on any account.” 

‘‘Well!” said Bob; “if you like such a hollow peace— but I’ll 
not shoot his partridges, nor ride his horses; I’ll go for a walk, and 
I ska’ n’t come in to dinner!” 

Bob flung out of the room, banging the door behind him. 

At first the other two hardly spoke a word to each other. Cherry 
sat down a little apart, and mechanically took up a newspaper. Jack 
sat in the window, and as his heat subsided, thought over the scene 
that had passed. He felt that it was more than a foolish outburst 
of violent temper; it had been a revelation to themselves and to each 
x)ther of a state of feeling that it seemed to him impossible any longer 
to ignore. He knew that Cheriton’s presence of mind had saved 
them from words and actions that might have parted them forever; 
but wdiat was the use of pretending to get on with Alvar after such 
a deadly breach? Better leave him to do the best he could in his 
own way, and go theirs. And Jack’s thoughts turned to his own 
way in the future that he hoped for., success and congenial labor, 
and sweet love to brighten it. After all, a man’s early home was 
not everything to him. And Ihen he looked toward Cheriton, who 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 225 

had dropped his newspaper, and sat looking dreamily before him, 
with a sad look of disappointment on his face. 

“ What are you going to do, Cherry?” said Jack. 

“Do? Nothing. What can I clo?” said Cherry. Then he 
added, “ We must not make too much of what passed to day; let 
us all try and forget it. Alvar has been ill-treated, and we are none 
of us so gentle as not to know what a little additional Spanish fire 
might make of us.” 

“ To be rough with you!” said Jack. 

“ Oh, that was accidental. It is the terrible resentment. There, 
1 did not mean to speak of it. Let us get out into the air, and 
shake it off.” 

“ It is too wet and cold for you,” said Jack, looking out. • 

Cheriton flushed at the little check with an impatience that showed 
how hardly the scene had borne on him. 

“ Nonsense; don’t be fanciful,” he said. It won’t hurt me — 
what if it did?” 

Jack followed him in silence, and as they walked Cherry talked 
resolutely of other matters, though with long pauses of silence be- 
tween. 

In the meantime Alvar endured an agony of self-disgust. He 
could not forgive himself for his loss of dignity, nor liis brothers 
for having witnessed it. Cheriton had conquered him, and the 
thought rankled so as to obscure even the love he bore him; while 
all the bitter and vindictive feelings, never recognized as sinful, took 
possession of him, and held undisputed sway. He was enough of 
an Englishman to reject his first impulse of rushing back to Seville 
and calling out his cousin and fighting Lim. After all, the bitter- 
ness was here; and at dinner-time he appeared silent aud sullen in 
manner. Cheriton looked ill and tired, and could hardly eat; but 
Alvar o tiered no remark on it, and the younger boys (for Bob did 
come back) were shy and embarrassed. Alvar answered when Oheri- 
ton addressed him with a sort of stiff politeness, and by the next 
morning had resumed a more ordinary demeanor; but when Bob 
again suggested going back to Ashrigg, Cheriton and Jack agreed 
that he had better do so, only charging him not to let Nettie or their 
grandmother guess at any quarrel. 

“And, Cherry,” Jack said, “suppose we come somewhere to- 
gether for a little while? A little sea air would do you good — and 
you could help me with my reading. No one could think it strange, 
and I am sure you want rest and quiet.” 

“ No, Jack,” said Cherry. “ It is very good of you, my bo} r , 
but — I’ll try a little longer. ' Alvar and I could not come together 
again it I went away now, and I’ll not give up hoping that after all 
things may right themselves. Think of all he has been to me. But 
you must do as you think best yourself.” 

“1 shall not leave you here without me,” said Jack; “ but I 
don’t see the use of slaying.” 

“ Well— 1 shall stay,” said Cherry. 

Alvar never alluded again to his letter from Spain; and the others 
were afraid to start the subject. He was very polite to them, and 
together they formed engagements, went over to Ashrigg, and led 
their lives in the usual manner; but there was no real approach, and 
6 


226 


AN ENGLISH SQUITIE. 

Cheriton missed Alvar’s caressing tenderness, and the tact that had 
always been exercised on his behalf. 

He did not, with all this worry, find as much strength to face the 
coming winter as he had hoped for, and while he thought that going 
back to London would put an end to the present discomfort, he be- 
lieved that he would do no good there; and would not a parting 
from Alvar now be a real separation? 

Alvar, meanwhile, took a fit of attending to business. He spent 
much time about the place, insisted on being consulted om all sub- 
jects, and still more on being instantly obeyed; King Log had van- 
ished, and a very peremptory King Stork had appeared in his place. 
The gentle, courteous, indifferent Alvar seemed possessed with a 
captious and resentful spirit that brooked no opposition. No one 
had ever dared to disobey Mr. Lester’s orders; but then they had 
been given with a due regard to possibility, and otten after consul- 
tation with those by whom they were to be obeyed. 

Alvar now proved kimselt to be equally determined; but he was 
often ignorant of what was reasonable and of what was not; and 
though the sturdy north -countrymen had given in against their in- 
clination to their superior, they thought it very hard to be driven 
against their judgment when they were right and “ t' strange 
squire ” was wrong, or at least innovating. Now Alvar did know 
something about horses, and his views of stable management 
differed somewhat from those prevailing at Oakby, and being based 
on the experience of a different climate and different conditions, 
were not always applicable there, and could only of course be car- 
ried, as it were, at the sword's point. 

Full of this new and intense desire to feel himself master, and to 
prove himself so, Alvar not unnaturally concentrated his efforts on 
the one subject where he had something to say. He could not lay 
down the law about turnips and wheat; but he did think that he 
knew best how to treat the injuries the young horse had received 
by his own mistaken order. 

Perhaps he did; but so did not think old Bill Fisher, who had 
been about the stables ever since he was twelve, and who, though 
past much active work, still considered himself an authority from 
which there was no appeal. 

Alvar visited tfe horse, and desired a certain remedy to be ap- 
plied to a sprained shoulder, taking some trouble to explain how it 
was to be made. 

Old Bill listened in an evil silence, and instead of saying that so 
far as he knew one of the ingredients was unattainable at Oakby, 
or giving his master an alternative, said nothing at all in reply to 
Alvar’s imperious — “ Remember, this must be done at once,” but 
happening soon after to encounter Cheriton, requested him to visit 
the horse, and desired his opinion of the proper treatment. 

Cheriton, ignoiant of what had passed, naturally quoted the ap- 
proved remedy at Oakby, adding — 

“ Why, Bill, I should have thought you would have known that 
for yourself. ” ‘ 

“ Ay, no one ever heard tell of no other,” muttered the old man, 
proceeding to apply it with some grumbling about slrangers, which 
Cheriton afterward bitterly rued having turned a deaf ear to. 


227 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

The next morning Alvar went to see if his plans had been carried, 
out, and discovering how his orders had been disregarded, turned 
round, and said sternly — 

“ How have you dared to disobey me?” 

“ Eh, sir,” said Bill, rather appalled at his master’s face, “ this 
stuff’s cured our horses these fifty year.” 

“ You have disobeyed me,” said Alvar “ and 1 will not suffer it. 
I dismiss you from my service— you may go. 1 will not forgive 
you.” 

Old Bill lifted up his bent figure, and stared at his master in utter 
amaze. 

“ 1 served your honor’s grandfather— me and mine,” he said. 

“ You can not obey me. What are your wages? I will pay 
them — you may go.” 

Neither the old man himself, nor the helpers who had begun to 
gather round, belonged to a race of violent words, or indeed of vio- 
lent deeds; but there was more hate in the faces that were turned 
on Alvar than would have winged many an Irish bullet. All were 
silent, till a little brother of Cherry’s friends, the Flemings, called 
out, saucily enough— 

“ ’Twas Mr. Clierry’s orders.” 

As it stung beyond endurance, Alvar turned, caught the boy by 
the shoulder, and raising his cane, struck him once, twice, several 
times, with a violence of which he himself was hardly conscious. 

This was the scene that met Cheriton’s startled eyes as he came 
up to the stable to inquire for the sick horse. 

He uttered a loud exclamation of astonishment and dismay, and 
put his hand on Alvar’s shoulder. 

Alvar, with a final blow, threw the lad away from him, and faced 
round on Cheriton, drew himself up, and iolded his arms, as he 
said, regardless of the spectators—, 

“ I will not have it that you interfere with me, to alter my orders, 
or to stop me in what 1 do. You shall not do it.” 

”1 have never interfered with you!” cried Cheriton fiercely. 
‘‘Assuredly 1 never will. 1 — 1 — ” He checked himself with a 
strong effort, and said, very low, “ We are forgetting ourselves by 
disputing here. If you have anything to say to me it can be said at 
a better moment.” 

Then, without trusting himself w r ith a word or look, he walked 
slowly away. 

Alvar said emphatically— 

“Remember, 1 have said what 1 desire,” and turned oft in an- 
other direction; while those left behind held such an “ indignation 
meeting ” as Oakhy had never seen. 


228 


AH ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


CHAPTER Vll. 

NO USE. 

“ Learn that each duty makes its claim 
Upon one soul, not each on all: 

How if God speaks thy brother’s name, 

Dare thou make answer to the call?” 

Cheriton had encountered greater sorrows, he had met with 
more startling disappointments, but never, perhaps, bad he endured 
such a complication of feeling as when he turned away and left 
Alvar in the stable-yard. Perhaps he had never been so angry, for 
Alvar’s accusation' was peculiarly galling, peculiarly hard to lor- 
give, and impossible to forget. And then there was the bitter sense 
of utter failure —failure of influence, of tact, of affection, and, in so 
far as he identified himself with the place and the people, there was 
yet a deeper sense of injury. Every old prejudice, every old dis- 
taste, surged up in his mind, and yet he loved Alvar well enough to 
sharpen the sting. Ele walked on faster and faster, till want of 
breath stdpped him, and brought on one of the fits of coughing to 
which overhaste or agitation always rendered him liable. He just 
managed to get back to the house and into the library, where jack 
started up, as he threw himself into a chair. 

“ Cherry, what is the matter?” 

Cherry could not speak for a moment; and Jack, much frightened, 
exclaimed — 

“ What ham you been doing? Let me call Alvar.” 

Cheriton caught his arm as he. turned away; and, after a few 
moments, as he began to get his breath — 

“ Don’t be frightened. 1 walked too fast up-hill.” 

“ How could you be so foolish?” 

“ Jack, 1 suppose 1 must tell you; indeed, I want to find out the 
rights of it; and 1 can ask no questions,” he added, with a sudden 
hurry in his accent. 

” VYliat do you mean? What has happened?” 

The instinct of not irritating Jack enabled Cheriton to control his 
own indignation, and he said very quietly— 

” When I went up to the stable 1 found*Alvar giving little Chris 
Eleming a tremendous licking. He was very much vexed with me 
for— I suppose for trying to interpose; but there were so many peo- 
ple about that we could not discuss it there. 1 wish you would go 
and ask old Bill what Chris had been doing, then come and tell me. 
Don’t say anything to Alvar about it.” 

Jack was keen enough to see that this was not quite an adequate 
account of the matter. He saw that Cheriton was deeply moved in 
someway, but he was so unfit for discussion just then that Jack 
thought the best course was to hurry off on his erraud. 

He came back in about half an hour, looking very serious — too 
much so to be ready to improve the occasion. 

“ Alvar has given old Bill warning — do you know that?” 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 229 

“ No. What was that tor?” cried Cheriton, starting up. 

“ He would not speak a word to me, and Chris had gone off to 
his brother’s; but John Symonds told me what had passed.” Here 
Jack repeated the story of the ointment, old Bill’s disobedience, and 
Chris’s declaration that it had been done by Cheriton ’s orders. 

Cheriton’s face cleared a little. 

“ Ah, 1 understand now. Ho wonder Alvar was vexed! I can 
explain that easily. But old Bill, it was very unjustifiable; but if 
Alvar will not overlook it 1 do believe it will kill him.” 

“ I don’t see what he would have to live on,” said Jack. “ You 
know that bad son spent his savings. But Alvar will let him off if 
you ask him, 1 dare say.” 

“ I think you had better do so,” said Cheriton quietly. 

At this moment Alvar came into the room, and Cheriton ad- 
dressed him at once. 

“ Alvar, when old Bill asked me about the ointment I did not 
know that you had been giving any orders about it. 1 am very 
sorry tor the mistake.” 

‘‘ It is not of consequence,” said Alvar. “ Do not trouble your- 
self about it.” 

The words were kind, but the tone was less so; and there was 
something in Alvar’s manner which made it difficult even for Jack 
to say— 

“I’m afraid old Bill Fisher was provoking. He should have told 
you that he could not get the stuff; but he is such an old servant, 
and so faithful. 1 hope you won’t dismiss him for it. He seems to 
belong to us altogether.” 

“ I shall not change,” said Alvar. 

“ But it’s an extremely harsh measure, and will make every one 
about the place detest you,” said Jack, still considering himself to 
be speaking with praiseworthy moderation. 

“ 1 will judge myself of the measure.” 

Then Cherry conquered his pride and said pleadingly — 

“ I wish it very much.’ 

“ 1 am sorry to grieve you,” said Alvar, more gently; “but 1 
have determined.” 

“ Well,” said Jack, losing patience, “ we spoke as .much for your 
sake as for Bill’s. Every one will consider it harsh dealing and 
a great shame. You’ll make them bate ’you.” 

“ I will make them fear me,” said Alvar. 

“ Claptrap and nonsense!” said Jack; but Cheriton interposed— 

“ Hush, Jack, we have no right to say any more. What must be 
must.” 

To do Alvar justice, he was not aware how deeply he was griev- 
ing Cheriton; he felt himself to.be asserting his rights, and in the 
worst corner of his heart knew that any relenting would be ascribed 
to his brother's influence. 

It was a very miserable day. After some hours of astonished 
sulking the poor old groom put his pride iu his pocket, and came 
humbly “ to beg t’ squire’s pardon,” and to entreat Cheriton to in- 
tercede for him, recapitulating his years of long service, and his 
recollections of the old squire’s boyhood, till he nearly broke 
Cherry’s heart; and induced him to promise to make another at- 


230 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

tempt at interceding— a promise which was not given without quite 
as severe a rebuke as Alvar had ever inflicted, for disrespect to his 
master’s orders. 

He' was closely followed by the eldest of the Fleming brothers, in 
great indignation. 

Nowhere but at Oakby, as the young man took care to obseive, 
would Chris have been allowed to take such a situation, in spite of 
his love of horses, and troublesomeness at home. 

“ Chris was impertinent to Mr. Lester,” said Cheriton, hardly 
knowing what line to take. 

Young Fleming was very sorry; in that case he was better at 
home, and he hoped it would not be inconvenient if he took him 
away at once. 

”1 suppose it might be best,” said Cheriton, thoroughly sym- 
pathizing with the grievance, and thankful to Fleming for not 
obliging him to hear or say much about it. 

“ Then, sir, maybe you will tell the squire that such is our wish.” 

“ No; 1 think you had better write him a note about it.” 

The two young men looked at each other, and though Cheriton 
turned his eyes quickly away, he knew well enough that Fleming 
understood the whole matter. 

“ As you please, sir,” he said; “ 1 wouldn’t wish for you to be 
annoyed, Mr. Cherry, and so I’ll keep out of the squire’s way. But 
Westmoreland men are not black slaves, which no. doubt, the squire 
is accustomed to, and accounts tor liis conducct. It’s plain, sir, to 
any one that can read the newspapers, that there’s no liberty in 
foreign parts, where they’re all slaves and papists. Education, sir, 
teaches us that. And folks do remark that the squire doesn’t keep 
his church as others do; and 1 have heard that be means to establish 
a Popish chapel like the one at Eavenscroft.” 

“ Then you have heard the greatest piece of nonsense that ever 
was invented. Education might cure you of such notions,” said 
Cherry. “You must do as you think best for Chris. I am very 
sorry.” 

The last words were involuntary, and Cherry hurried away before 
he was betra} r ed into any further discussion. 

Some hours later, as it was growing dusk, he was lying on the 
window-seat in the library,- thinking of how he could plead old 
Fisher’s cause, without giving offense, and corning slowly to the 
conclusion that his presence there was doing tar more harm than 
good, that he was risking peace with Alvar, and had better give up 
the struggle, when Alvar himself came into the room, and came up 
to him. 

“ Are you not well?” lie said, rather constrainedly. 

“ Only very tired.” 

“ What have you been doing?” said Alvar, sitting down on the 
end of the broad-cushioned seat, and looking at him. 

The words certainly gave an opening; but Cheriton, famous all 
his life for the most audacious coaxing, could not summon a smile 
or a joke. 

“ 1 have been tired all day,” he said, to gain time for reflection. 

“ See,” said Alvar suddenly, “you are unhappy about this old 
man, whom 1 have dismissed.” 


AH EHGLISH SQUIRE. 23l 

“ Yes. 1 don’t defend him, tar from it ; but be is old and crotchety, 
and 1 think you were harsh with him,” said Cbeny resolutely. 

“ But it is* I who should decide what to do with him,” said Alvar. 

“ Of course. Don’t imagine I dispute it,” said Cheriton, think- 
ing this assertion rather foolish. 

“ You tell me that I should be master; you have told me so often. 
Well, then, I can be harsh to my servants it I please.” 

“ If you please, remembering that you and they serve the same 
Master above. ” 

Alvar paused for a moment, then said, “ 1 do not pleases, at present. 
I have grieved you, as when I hurt Buffer. 1 will not be ruled by 
any one, but the old map shall live in his cottage, and have his 
wages; but he shall not come into the stables nor hear my horses. 
Does that please you, my brother?” 

Cherry had his doubts as to how old Bill might regard or fulfill the 
conditions, and certainly forbidding a servant to do any work was 
rather an odd way of punishing him; but he answered gratefully — 

“ Yes, I thank you, you have taken a great weight oft my mind.” 

“ You cough,” said Alvar, after a few moments; “ the weather is 
getting too cold for you.” 

”1 thought,” said Cherry, forcing himself to take advantage of 
the excuse, “ that 1 would go to the sea for a little while before the 
winter.” 

“Yes; where shall we go?” said Alvar, in a tone of interest. 
“ Look,” he continued, with wonderful candor; “ here we vex each 
other because we do not think the same. We are angry with each 
other; but we will come away, aud I will take care of you. Then 
you shall go to London, and 1 shall come back, and you will see, 1 
will yet be the squire. Where shall we go, mi carof ” 

it was almost a dismissal, and so Clieiiton felt it to be; but after 
all it was his own decision, and the return of Alvar’s old kindness 
was very com foi table to him. 

“ 1 had hardly thought about that,” he said. 

“ Well,” returned Alvar, “ we can talk about it. !Now, it is cold 
here in the window; come nearer to the fire and rest till dinner- 
time.” 

As Cheriton sat up and looked out at the stormy sunset, he saw lit- 
tle Chris Fleming coming up the path that led round to the back 
door. 

“ Ah,” said Alvar cheerfully, following his eyes, “ 1 do not wish 
to punish that boy any more, tie has had enough, that little rascal.” 

Evidently, Alvar’s conscience was quite at ease, and he did not 
suppose that he had in any way compromised himself. He began 
to perceive that Alvar had his own ideas as to what would make 
him really master of Oakby. 

Just alter dinner a note was brought to Alvar. 

“ If you please, sir, this note was found in the passage, iust inside 
the back door.” 

Alvar took the letter, lit one of the candles on the chimney-piece, 
and proceeded to read it. 

“ Moor End Farm, Sept. 29th. 

“ Honored Sir, — After the events of this morning, 1 considef 
it for the best that my brother Christopher should leave your service 


232 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

at once. I have no objection to forfeit any wages due to him as 1 
do not feel able to give the usual month’s notice alter what has 
passed. 1 remain, honored sir, 

“ A our obedient servant, 

“Edward Fleming.’ * 

Alvar colored deeply as he read. “ What is this?” he exclaimed. 
“ May 1 not punish eveu a little boy, who insults me? Look!” and 
he threw the letter to his brother. 

“ It is very awkward,” said Ckeriton. 

“ 1 think it insolent,” said Alvar. 

“ 1 think there is a great effort to avoid any want of respect in 
the letter.” 

“ To take the boy away because he was punished!” 

“ Well, Alvar, if you or 1 were in Ned Fleming’s place, we 
shouldn’t have liked it.” 

“ Did you know that this letter was coming?” 

“Yes, I did.” 

“ It is perhaps as you have advised Fleming?” 

“ No. 1 gave him no advice; but 1 knew he -would not let the 
boy st ay .here.” 

“ Do you then approve?” said Alvar, in a curious sort of voice. 

“ From their point of view — yes. You are right in saying that 
you must make yourself felt as the master; but there is no good in 
enforcing your authority in a way that is not customary, to sa}' the 
least ol it. In England we can’t lay our hands on other people; and 
they might have summoned you for an assault, you know.” 

“ What! before a judge?” 

“ Before a magistrate. ” 

“ 1?” exclaimed Alvar, in a tone of such amazement that Cheriton 
nearly laughed. “ Who would listen to that little boy against me, 
who am a gentleman and his master?” 

“ The little boy is your equal in the eyes of the law, and might 
meet with more attention just because you are his master. Not that 
I mean to say it would not be regarded as very annoying to convict 
you,” said Cheriton, thinking of the feelings of Sir John Hubbard 
on such an emergency. 

“ I will myself be a magistrate,” said Alvar. 

“That you never will,” said Cherry, losing patience, “while 
these stories get about, for no one would trust you.” 

“ Can 1 not be a magistrate if 1 choose?” 

“Not unless the lord lieutenant gives you a commission, of 
course.” 

“ 1 think there is power for every one but me!” said AlYar. “ 1 
may not punish that little — what is your word?— vulgar, common 
boy. 1 do not like so much law'. Gentlemen should do as they 
wish. You talk so much about my being landlord and squire. 
What is the use of it if 1 may not do* as 1 will? Well, 1 will send 
away Fleming from his farm — that is mine at least.” 

“1 am afraid he has a twenty-one years’ lease in it,” said 
Cheriton, rather wickedly; and Alvar, fancying himself laughed at, 
suddenly put the letter in his pocket and turned awaj% as the gong 
sounded for dinner. He disappeared afterward when tlrey went 


233 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

back to the library, nnd Cheriton had the forbearance to abstain 
from giving Jack the benefit of Alvar’s peculiar views on the British 
constitution, though they could not fail to speak of the events of the 
morning, and Jack said— 

“ Well, at least he has heard reason about old Bill, and that was 
of most consequence; but 1 should think you would be glad to be 
back in London, and out of the way of it all.” 

“Iam not quite sure about London, Jack,” said Cheriton, after 
a moment. 

“ What, you don’t feel well enough?” 

“ 1 don’t think 1 shall ever be good for much there; and besides 
—1 think 1 should like to talk to you a litlle, Jack, if you’ll listen. ” 

“ Well?” 

“ You know how 1 always looked forward to settling in London, 
and how Uncle Cheriton wished it, and meant to help me on. In 
fact I never thought of anything else.” 

“ l 7 es, 1 know,” said Jack, briefly. 

“ There was a time when 1 desired that sort of success intensely, 
and when things were very much changed for me, 1 thought it would 
still — be satisfactory. ’ ’ 

“Yes?” 

“ But of course, as you know, 1 soon perceived that the hard 
continuous work, necessary for anything like success, was quite out 
of the question for me — 1 feel sure that it , always will be; and, 
moreover, 1 never felt well in London. I was much better here 
when I first came.” 

Poor Jack looked as if the disappointment were much freshet and 
harder to him than to. the speaker himself. 

“ You must know,” Cheriton continued, “.that a doctor once told 
me at Oxford that the damp soft'air there was very bad for a native 
of such a place as this, and 1 see now that the last few months there 
began the mischief; and London lias something the "same effect on 
me. That seems to settle the question. ” 

“1 suppose so,” said Jack, so disconsolately, that Cherry halt 
smiled, as he resumed— 

“Otherwise the pleasant idle life there might have its charms. 
Though, after all. Jack, I shouldn’t like it as things are now.' 
When 1 expected to be a London man, 1 expected, as you know — a 
good deal else. And afterward even, while all home ties here were 
safe and sound, one would not get selfish and aimless. But now 1 
couldn’t be happy, 1 think, without a home- world that really be- 
longed to me.” 

“ And so home is being spoiled for you too?” said Jack. 

“ 1 see,” returned Cheriton, “ that it won’t do. If Alvar is left to 
himself here, he will fighl his way now, I think, to some means of 
managing proper to himself.” 

“ Or improper,” said Jack. 

“ Well, to be honest, I am afraid he will make a great many mis- 
takes, and do a great deal of mischief. But if I were here— 1 mean 
if this place were still to be home to me so that 1 still felt— as I 
should feel — a personal concern in all the old interests, iUvar would 
quarrel with me. 1 might prevent individual evils; but iu the long 
run I should do harm. He thought at first that 1 should guide him. 


234 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


Perhaps 1 thought so too; but it is a false and impossible relation, 

and it must be put a stop to.” . ■ 

“But, Cherry, 1 think father looked to you to keep, things 

stnughf ^ ^ chewy, “ but not to make them more crooked, by 

such disputes as we have had lately.” > 

Cheriton spoke resolutely, though with a quiver ot the lip, and 
Jack could guess well enough at the pain ihe resolve was costing 
him. “ Alvar is quite changed to you!” he said, savagely.. 

“ Yes, because be himseli is changing. He is different in many 
ways, and conscious of all sorts of difficulties. 

“ But what do you mean to do?” . . 

“ oh nothing desperate, nothing till the winter is over. Prob- 
ably 1 shall go to the sea with Alvar, as he suggests. Then if I am 
pretty well, I shall go and see granny. 1 have a notion that I 
should be better here in the cold weather than in London. I want 

^“Had you all this in your mind when you settled to buy Up- 
lands?” said Jack suddenly. 

“ Yes— in part 1 had.” 

“ But, you are not thinking of living there ! What are you driv- 
ing at, Cherry? I can’t understand you.” 

“ Well, Jack,” said Cherry, slowly and with rising color, I will 
tell you, but 1 wanted to show you the process. And you must re- 
member that it is only an idea known to no one else, and very prob- 
ably may orove impossible, perhaps undesirable.” 

“ Tell me,” said Jack, more gently. Any scheme for the future 
was a relief from listening to the laying aside of hopes which he 
knew had been so much a part of Clieriton’s being. 

“ Well ” said Cherry again, “ I’m afraid my motives are rather 
poor ones. Y T ou see, after' Oakby there’s no place for me like 
Elder Ihwaite. I want the feeling, as Isay, of a place and neigh- 
bors of my own. I suppose I am used to playing first fiddle, and 
to looking after other people’s concerns. Granny always said I 
was a Gossip. Then I’m narrow-minded; perhaps I have had too 
much taken out ot me to think of starting afresh. And you know 
the old parson will always put up with me, and so will Elderthwaite 
people. And 1 want an object in life— if you knew how dreary it 
is to be without one! If they had a strange curate he would set 
them all by the ears, and the parson would make a fool of himself! 
So if Mr. Ellesmere thinks the bishop would consent, and approves, 
and it l am fit for anything, 1 thought that I would try.” 

Jack was silent for some moments, lie understood Cheriton 
well enough to “ follow the process,” but it affected him stiongly, 
and at last he said gravely,— # . . . „ 

“ 1 am afraid all the vexation here has put this into your head. 

“ partly,” said Cherry, simply, “ this actual thing. I can t say 
anything of other motives of course, Jack. I know that it looks 
like, that in fact it is turning to this — which ought to be the offering 
of all one’s best— when other careers have failed me. And 1 know 
that those who sympathize the least will be the most inclined to say 
so. But it is not quite so. 1 have always wished to be of use, of serv- 
ice, here especially. 1 thought I saw how. 1 have the same wish 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 235 

still, and this seems to offer me a way. It is but a gatlicrin<; up of 
the fragments, but 1 trust He will accept.” 

Jack’s view rather was that the plan was not good enough for his 
brother, than that his brother was not good enough for it. 

“ You were always good enough for anything, if that is what 
you mean,” he said. “ But 1 do not understand, Cherry, about 
wanting an object; only — only it’s such an odd one.” 

“‘1 tell you,” said Cherry, brightly, for the disclosure was a great 
relief to him, “ that that’s the very point. I don’t think I get on 
amiss with auy one, even with the Sevillctnos , but dowu at the bot- 
tom of my heart, Jack, i’m not far removed — we none of us are— 
from ‘ There’s a stranger, ’eave ’alf a brick at him,’ and when I 
think of any direct dealing with people, anything like clerical work, 
why, except to my own kith and kin, 1 should have nothing to say. 
The self-denial of missionaries seems to me incredible. 1 could not 
do as Bob means to do, I think, if health and strength were to be 
(he reward of it. It’s a very unworthy weakness, 1 know, but I 
can’t help it.” 

“ You would get on very well anywhere,” said Jack; “ that is 
all nonsense. 1 don’t believe Elderthwaite would agree with you, 
and vou could overwork yourself just as well there as anywhere 
else.” 

“ Well, as to the place agreeing with me, that remains to be 
proved. It’s a very small church, and a small place; and I hope I 
might be able to do the little they are fit for— at present. But 1 
know it may prove to be out of the question.” 

Jack was silent. He could not bear to vex Cherry hy opposing 
a scheme which seemed to offer him some pleasure in the midst of 
his annoyances, and if his brother had proposed to take orders with 
more ordinary expectations, it would, have been quite in accord- 
ance with the Oakby code of what was fitting. But there w\as 
something in the consecration of what Cheriton evidently viewed 
as a probably short life and failing powers to an object so unselfish, 
and yet, as it seemed to Jack, so commonplace; it was so like Cherry, 
and yet showed such a conquest of himself — there was such humil- 
ity in the acknowledgment that he was only just fit for the sort of 
imperfect work that offered itself, and yet such a complete sense 
that no one else could manage that particular bit of work so well — 
it was, as Jack*said, “so odd,” that it thrilled him through and 
through, and he was glad that Alvar’s entrance saved him from a 
reply. 


CHAPTER Y1II. 

REVENGE. 

- “ 4 Now, look you,’ said my brother , 1 you may talk, 

Till, weary with the talk, I answer nay.’ M 

Alvar, having avoided his brothers after dinner, came back into 
the hall, and, sitting down by the fire, lighted a cigarette. As he 
sat there in the great chair by himself, the flames flickering on the 
oak panels, and the subdued light of the lamp failing to penetrate 
the dark corners of the old hall, his face took an expression of 


236 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

melancholy, and there was an air of loneliness about his solitary figure 
— a loneliness which was not merely external. He was perplexed 
and unhappy, and the fact that his unhappiness had roused in his 
breast pride and jealousy and anger, did not make it less real. He 
had not come to the point of owning himself in the wrong, and yet 
he felt puzzled. He could not see how he had offended. It was a 
critical moment. Gentle and affectionate as Cheriton was, and 
happy as the relations had hitherto been between them, Alvar felt 
himself judged and condemned by his brother’s higher standard 
how that he had at last become aware of its existence. He had 
never been distressed by Virginia’s way of looking at things; she 
was a woman, and her views could not affect his; and for along 
time, as has been said, he had regarded Cheriton ’s ideas of duty as 
much an idiosyncrasy as his fair complexion, or his affection for 
Rolla and Buffer. Now he perceived that Cheriton himself did not 
so regard them, but, with whatever excuses and limitations, expect- 
ed them to be binding on Alvar himself and Alvar’s whole nature 
kicked against the criticism. Cheriton had been clear-sighted 
enough to perceive this, and so judged it better to draw back; but 
Alvar, through clouds and darkness, had seen a glimpse of the light. 
He knew that Cheriton was right, and the knowledge irritated him. 
In a fitf ul, dark sort of way he tried to assert his independence and 
yet justify himself to Cheriton. It was doubtful whether he would 
gradually follow the light thus held out to him, or decidedly turn 
away from it, and just now his wounded pride prompted him to the 
latter course. He would go his own way; and when he had settled 
his affairs to his mind, his brothers should own that he was right. 
And yet— did he not owe a debt, never to be forgotten, to the kind 
hand that had welcomed him, the bright face that had smiled on 
him, long ago, on that dreary Christmas-eve? Alvar did 'not say to 
himself, as he perhaps might have done with truth, that he had re- 
paid Cheriton’s early kindness to him tenfold; but he thought of 
the joyous, active youth, whose animal spirits, constant activity, and 
frequent laughter had been such a new experience to him. 

As Alvar thought how great the change had been, his softer feel- 
ings revived, and with them the instinct of caring for his brother’s 
comfort in a thousand trifling ways. He remembered that Cheriton 
had hardly eaten any dinner, and ro3e, intending Jo go to him and 
persuade him to have some of the chocolate for which he had never 
lost the liking gained in Spain. As he moved toward the library 
the butler came into the the hall, and, with some excitement, told 
him that Fletcher, his farm bailiff, wanted to speak to him. 

“ But it is too late,” said Alvar. ” He may come to-morrow.” 

Indeed, sir, 1 think it is of consequence. Some ill-disposed per- 
sons, sir, have set one of your ricks on fire, as 1 understand,” said 
the butler, with the air of elevation with which the news of any mis- 
demeanor is usually communicated. 

“ Tell him, then, to come in,” said Alvar, coolly; and Fletcher, 
appearing, deposed that a certain valuable hay-rick, in a field about 
a mile from the house, on a Email farm called Holywell, which 
had tdways been managed, together with the home farm, by Mr. 
Lester himself, had been discovered by one of the men going home 
from work to be on fire. In spite of all their efforts, a great part 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 23? 

had been burned and the rest much injured by the water used to 
put out the fire. 

“ And how did the hay catch fire?” asked Alvar, with composure. 

” Well, sir, that young lad Fleming was found hanging about 
behind a hedge, as soon as we had eyes for any thing but the 
flames; and after this morning’s work, and words that many have 
heard him drop, the constable thought it his duty to take him up 
on suspicion, and he is in the lock-up at Hazelby.” 

Fletcher eyed his master as he spoke, to see how the intelligence 
would be received. 

“ Ah, then,” said Alvar, “ he will be sent to prison.” 

‘‘The magistrates meet on Thursday, sir— day after to-morrow; 
but arson being a criminal offense, he’ll be committed for trial at 
quarter sessions,” said Fletcher, in an instructive manner. “ Will- 
fully setting fire to property we name arson, sir; the sentence is 
transportation for a term of years, sir.” 

“ It is the passion of revenge,” said Alvar, calmty. “ It does not 
surprise me.” 

Fletcher looked as if the squire surprised him greatly; but Aim* 
wished him good-night, and dismissed him. 

“ Why — the old squire would have been up at Holy well and 
counted the very sticks of hay that was left!” he thought to him- 
self as he withdrew; while Alvar went and communicated the intel- 
ligence to his brothers. 

Cheriton listened, dismayed, while Jack exclaimed — 

“ I don’t believe it! No Fleming ever was such a fool.” 

‘‘But he was angry with me,” said Alvar. ‘‘He might have 
stabbed me out of revenge.” 

‘‘Nonsense! we don’t live in Ireland, nor in Spain either! 
They’ll never forgive you, of course, to their dying day, but they 
won’t put you in the right by breaking the law — we’re too far 
north for that.” 

‘‘ Fletcher doesn’t belong to these parts, you know,” said Cherry; 
“ he might take up an idea. 1 do think it most unlikely that a boy 
brought up like Chris would commit such an act. Besides, we saw 
him down here. When was the fire seen?” 

‘-Ido not know,” said Alvar; ‘‘but Fletcher said that he was 
there.” 

“ It can’t be,” said Cheriton; “ 1 can not believe it. But they’ll 
never get over the boy being taken up at all. AYhy on earth did 
they never let us know what was going on? 1 wish lhad been there;.” 

“ Yes; a fire, and for us never to know of it!” said Jack, regret- 
fully 

“ I think that Chris is a bad boy, and that he has done it,” said 
Alvar. ” But I do not care about* the hay. What does that matterf ’ 

“ Why, the rick was worth forty pounds,” said Cherry. 

“ I do not care for forty pounds. I care that 1 shall be obeyed,” 
said Alvar. 

A great deal more discussion followed, chiefly between Alvar and 
Jack; the latter at last relieving his mind of much Of the good ad- 
vice which he had long been burning to bestow. He showed Alvar 
his errors at length, and in the clearest language. Alvar took it very 
coolly, and without much more interest than if it had been an essay. 


238 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

He was not, as they would have expected, enraged at the burnt rick; 
indeed Cheriton could not help fancying that he regarded it as a 
justification of his violence toward Chris. As usual, it was the 
sense of Clieriton’s opposing view rather than the thing itself that 
annoyed him. 

“ Don’t worry yourself, Cherry,” said Jack, as he wished him 
good-night. “ I’ll go the first thing in the morning and find out the 
rights of it.” 

Accordingly, before either of his brothers appeared, Jack started 
off through wind and rain, and investigated the story of the burnt 
rick. 

He returned in high feather, and found them still at breakfast; 
for Alvar by no means held his father’s opinion an to the merits ot 
early rising. 

” Well,” said Jack, ” it’s clear that Chris had nothing to do 
with it. He left home at half -past four, went straight to old Bill’s 
cottage, where Alice Fisher gave him some tea, and where no doubt 
they indulged in a good crack, left them at half-past five, and came 
straight up here with the note for Alvar, when you saw him.” 

” Yes,” said Cherry, “ 1 looked at the clock when I came over to 
the fire.” 

“ Well, then, John Kitson saw the rick on fire exactly at half-past 
five, he heard the cliureh-clock strike; so if you and Alvar go over 
to Hazelby to-morrow, and prove that Chris came here on his way 
from old Bill’s at that time, you can set it all to rights in a moment. 
And if that idiot Fletcher had sent for you— for Alvar— last night, 
poor Chris would never have been suspected.” 

” Well, Jack, you have done a good morning’s work,” said Cher- 
ry, much relieved. 

“ l^ee. Give me some coffee, I had hardly any breakfast,” said 
Jack, cutting himself some cold. beef. “ It is such a cold morning, 
too.” 

“ And who did set the rick on fire, then?” said Cherry. 

” Ah, that’s not so clear. Fletcher and Jos Green had a shindy 
a day or two ago, and that lad is capable of anything; but, after all, 
it may have been an accident.” 

Alvar all this time had eaten his breakfast in silence. He did not 
believe Jack’s evidence, but perhaps he hardly felt its force, and the 
sense of having been nearly concerned in committing an injustice, 
did not strike him as forcibly as it did the others. He felt, perhaps, 
not unnaturally, a sense of intense irritation against the whole 
Fleming family, and a wish never to hear their names again. Be- 
sides, Jack was openly triumphant, and he could not doubt that 
Cherry was secretly so. 

The conversation dropped therefore, and Alvar, as the weather 
brightened, ordered his horse and went out. Jack retreated to his 
books; and presently came the vicar, to hear the rights of the stury 
about Chris Fleming. 

Cheriton said as little as he could, declaring that the arrest had 
been an entire mistake, which they much regretted, and that Alvar 
would take care that it was set right to-morrow. 

” Have you heard ot the outbreak of reforming zeal at Elder- 
tliwaite?” asked Mr. Ellesmere. 


239 


AN ENGLISH - SQUIRE. 

“ Yes,” said Cheriton, coloring. “ MissSeyton told me about it, 
and besides, Clements was full of it when I saw him last. You 
see some new Dlood has come into the place, and there is a violent 
reaction, of course only among the few.” 

“ Yes. Clements came to consult me about writing to the bishop. 
They want to have a curate; but 1 am afraid the old parson has set 
all his strength against it, and there are plenty to back him up. 
Besides, 1 don’t see how the payment could be managed, as, of 
course, Miss Seyton will not act against her uncle. I told Clements 
to have patience; but a good deal of ill-feeling is cropping up. 1 
^vvish you would go over and see if you can smooth things down a 
little.” 

“ Do you think 1 could?” 

‘‘Why, yes; you always take Elderthwaite abuses under your 
protection. You would be the only curate to please the parsou and 
his parishioners, too!” 

Mr. Ellesmere spoke entirely in jest, and was exceedingly sur- 
prised when Cheriton answered seriously— 

“ Indeed, I have thought so;” and then proceeded, at greater 
length than he had done with Jack, to untold his project. lie did 
not try to prepossess the vicar in its favor, nor touch on his home 
difficulties, save by saying that an idle life at Oakby would not suit 
him. He said plainly that he felt that only the peculiar circum- 
stances of Elderthwaite, and his own independent means, could 
justify such a step in one who believed himself likely to have but 
little time and less strength before him. AVould Mr. Ellesmere ex- 
plain the whole state of the case to the bishop, and ask — other mat- 
ters being satisfactory — would he ordain him if the next spring lie 
found himself capable of doing anything? 

“And would this really content you, Cherry?” said Mr. Elles- 
mere. ” It would be clerical work in its most unattractive form, 
among, 1 should say, very unattractive people.” 

“ Not to me,” said Cheriton. “ It would not be a distasteful life 
to me.” 

“ And then the climate here—” 

“ That the doctors shall decide nest spring,” said Cherry, smil- 
ing. 

“ I don’t see my way to it, my boy,” said Mr. Ellesmere, struck 
by his fragile look. “ You must not run risks, and you would take 
responsibilities upon you which would make each particular risk 
seem unavoidable.” 

Cheriton evidently did not see hi3 way to a reply. His face fell. 
The vivid, vigorous nature, checked at eveiy turn, was ever striv- 
ing after a fresh outlet. The instinct to be up and doing, to put his 
hand to everything that came to it, could not be stifled by loss and 
disappointment, or even by want of physical health and strength. 
After a pause he said, in an altered voice — 

‘‘ There are things that make it seem as if that did not much mat- 
ter. I mean it is my own concern now. A short life and a busy 
one is better than a few more months, or years even, like mine.” 

“ 1 do not think your life has ever been useless yet. Cherry, even 
under the limitations that have been laid on it,” said Mr. Ellesmere, 
quietly. 


240 


AN ENGLISH SQUIKE. 


Cheriton sat looking into (lie fire in silence, (hen he turned round 
and smiled with much of his old playf ul defiance, though there was 
a deeper undercurrent. 

“You can keep a lookout on me all the winter, and tell the Eld- 
ertli waite reformers that they don't know what may happen, if they 
will only have patience. Then next spring I’ll come and ask your 
advice again, and if you make out a very good case against me, 
why. I'll give in.” 

He uttered the last words slowly, and Mr. Ellesmere fully under- 
stood all that they implied. lie feared that the queslion might he 
answered for him before next spring. 

Cherry himself felt that he had not taken a very favorable mo- 
ment for putting forward his designs, for he was neither looking 
nor feeling well; and could hardly point to himself as a proof of 
the suitability of his native climate. Still the communication had 
given a certain point to look forward to, and was an individual in- 
terest apart from the confusing worry of affairs at Oakby. If, after 
the present crisis had subsided, Alvar still held his intention of 
going to the sea with him, their old friendliness would soon super- 
sede the present irritation. .Then, afterward, he would go to Lon- 
don, break up his arrangements there, and see the St anf ortlis, and 
would then spend Christmas with his grandmother. In the mean- 
time he would be exceedingly prudeat; and having regard both to 
the bad weather and to the charge of interference, would leave Al- 
var to go by himself to Hazelby to-morrow. 

Alvar’s ride had been interrupted by an encounter with Edward 
Fleming, full of resentment, by no means unnatural, though it was 
by this time somewhat unreasonable, for he could hardly help be- 
lieving that the accusation against Chris had been intentional. A 
very sturdy and recalcitrant north-countryman he showed himself, 
respectful indeed in word to the squire, but intensely conscious of 
his injuries, and giving the squire very plainly to understand that a 
lull explanation before all the magistrates at Hazelby, not to say a 
full apology, was no more than his duty, and fully to be expected 
of him. It was an unfoitunate meeting. An appeal to Alvar’s 
generosity and protection would have been inslantly responded to; 
but the one form of pride roused (he other, and stirred up the fear 
of dictation in his mind. He looked down at the sullen, resolute 
face of the young farmer with an expression of intense haughtiness, 
a look which, on the dark foreign face, seemed Utterly hateful to 
Fleming, and said, as he made his horse move on — 

“ That is as 1 shall please.” 

“ If you let my brother be wronged, sir,” said Fleming, “ mark 
me, you’ll repent it. ’Tis not the way your father would treat an 
old tenant, nor' your brother either. A dog had his rights at their 
hands.” 

And in a rage, intensified by his .consciousness of Alvar’s scorny 
he flung off with a sense of injury which would have led an Irish- 
man to fire a shot, but which, in the English farmer, meant oppos- 
ing the squire in Church and State, disobliging him on every private 
and parochial question, taking on every occasion the other side, and 
carrying on this line of conduct till his dying day. 

He was young, too, and, as he had remarked to Cheriton, had 


AST ENGLISH SQUIRE. 241 

education, and he might confide his grievance to the county paper. 
Bur. he was both too proud and too generous to appeal again to 
Gheriton; and, besides, he never supposed for a moment, that the 
squire would withhold his evidence. 

But Alvar s wrath was hot wilhiu him. As master against serv- 
ant, as head of the family again- 1 his juniors, above all, as gentle- 
man against peasant, he felt. bound to assert himself and his author- 
ity. No one should threaten him into begging ofl the boy who had 
insulted him, and whose family had so defied him. He would not 
yield to any one’s view of his duty. Let the insolent boy have a 
few weeks more of suspense; what did it malter? When the real 
trial came be would condescend to give evidence in his favor (sub- 
pcenas did not at that moment occur to his mind), and would explain 
to the judge why he had chosen to delay his evidence. Then every 
one would see with what vigor he could administer his estate; and 
perhaps he would, to please Cheriton, then of his Own free will con- 
fer some benefit on the Flemings which would make everything 
smooth. 

'Of course Alvar was not so foolish as his intentions, but all his 
past negligence had resulted in an amount of present ignorance of 
his surroundings which made such a scheme appear possible to him. 
It did strike him that Cheriton might take the matter into his own 
hands, and go to llazelby himself: but so great a point had been 
made of his own going that he hardly knew how far this would 
supersede the need for it, and he did not mean to provoke a dis- 
cussion. 

Circumstances favored him; Jack was going to dine and sleep at 
Ashrigg, he himself had another dinner engagement, and on the 
next day he had really promised to go early and shoot vrith Lorc\ 
Milford. Cheriton had forgotten all about this, and, anxious not 
to irritate Alvar, said nothing about the magistrates’ meeting dur- 
ing the short time they were together. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A NEW LIFE. 

His peaceful being slowly passes by 
To some more perfect peace . 11 

The next morning Cheriton slept late, and awoke to the con- 
sciousness that he had caught a slight cold, “ which,” as he said to 
himself, “ might happen to any one.” 

“ Will you ask Mr. Lester to come to me before he goes to Ha- 
zelby ?” he said, not feeliug quite able to satisfy himself that Alvar 
had all the needful evidence clear in his head. 

” Mr. Lester is not going to Hazelby, sir,” said the man; “ he 
went to Lord Milford’s early this morning in the dog-cart, lie left 
word that he would not disturb you. sir.” 

The engagement at Mil-ford flashed across, Cheriton ’s mind, and 
with dismay and indignation her perceived that Alvar had not 
thought it worth while to break it on Chris Fleming’s account. In 
a moment he recognized the utter ruin that would fall on all chance 


242 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


ot Alvar’s success with his tenants, still more thq disgrace that he 
would bring on himself in the eyes of the whole bench of magis- 
trates, by the neglect of such an obvious duty, while on his own 
part he telt that it was such an unkindness as he hardly knew how 
to forgive. His first impulse was to let the matter alone, and to 
leave Alvar to bear the brunt of his own misdoing. But then the 
thought came of the distress to the Flemings, of the fatal injury to 
the boy from the weeks of undeserved detention, and, after all, the 
discredit would tall on them all alike. He forgot all his intention ot 
nursing his cold, forgot its very existence, as he perceived, on look- 
ing at his watch, that he had barely time to reach Hazelby for the 
meeting. 

“ It is all the same/’ he said, “ my going to Hazelby will answer 
every purpose. Tell them to bring Molly round at once. As Mr. 
Lester has the dog-cart, 1 will ride.” 

“ There is a very cold wind, and it looks like rain, sir.” 

“That can’t be helped/’ said Cheritbn, “there is no time to 
lose.” 

He tried to make his expedition seem a matter of course; but 
every one in the house believed that he went because the squire had 
gone oft on his own pleasure, or, out of what the old cook did not 
hesitate to call “ nasty spite,” had refused to justify little Fleming. 
Indeed, as Cheriton rode hurriedly away, he could hardly divest 
himself of the same opinion. 

In the meanwhile, Alvar no sooner found himself well on the way 
to Milford than he began to feel pangs of compunction. The cold 
wind and drizzling rain beat in his face, as the conviction was borne 
in upon him, that Cheriton w r ould certainly go to Hazelby in his 
place. He had not been at Milford since the day ot the grpat rejoic- 
ing, when Cheriton, with alibis fresh honors, had met "them there, 
had wooed, and, as he thought, won Ruth Seyton; when he himself 
was Virginia’s acknowledged lover. He called her to mind, as she 
had walked by his side in smiling content, as she played with the 
children— felt now, as he never had then, the wistfulness of her 
eyes, when they met his, and almost for the first time he recognized 
that the want of devotion had been on his side. He had not loved 
her enough. A sense of discouragement and despondence seized 
on him, a deep melancholy sbftened the resentment which he had 
been cherishing. As he looked back on the years of his father’s 
neglect, on Virginia’s dismissal, on his brother’s views ot what his 
position required, for once the sense of his shortcomings overpow- 
ered his sense of the many excuses for them. His indifference to the 
chance of Cheriton ’s running a great risk touched him with a self- 
reproach for which his theories of life offered no palliative. He 
could not rest, and with a suddenness and vehemence of action most 
unusual with, him, he turned to Lord Milford as they prepared to 
start on their day’s sport, declared that he had suddenly recollected 
an important engagement, and must beg them to excuse him at once; 
overruled all objections on the score of his horse wanting rest by 
declaring that he would only drive to the station, and go by train 
to Hazelby. 

“ 1 am humiliated by my want of courtesy to your lordship, but 
it is necessary that J should go,” he said; but what with the delay 


243 


AN EKGLiSH SQUIRE. 

of starting, and the absence of a train at the last moment, the mag- 
istrates' meeting was over leng before be reached Hazelby, every 
one had dispersed, and the court-house was shut. 

He could not bring himself to ask any questions; but ordered a 
conveyance and started on his way back to Oakby, hardly knowing 
whether to reveal his change of purpose or not. On the road he 
passed the three Fleming brothers, trudging home through the mud. 
They looked away, and omitted to touch their hats to him. Alvar 
said to himself that he did not care; but the sense of unpopularity 
can never be other than bitter. He thought to himself that after 
all English gentlemen did not always live on their estates. There 
were hundreds of his father’s rank who did not hold his father’s 
view of their.duiies. He could shut Oakby up, let it go where he 
would never see it again. But where? Never as the disinherited 
heir would he set foot in Seville, and he had no craving to hunt 
tigers in India, or buffaloes on the prairies. He did not wish to go 
yachting; did not care to travel ; he hated the fogs and the color- 
lessness of London. He was as little ready to cut himself loose 
from all his moorings as Cheriton himself. Suddenly, as he drove 
on, he saw one of the Oakby grooms riding fast toward him. The 
man pulled up as he passed 

“Mr. Cheriton is ill, sir; Mrs. Lester is there, and she sent me 
for the doctor.” 

Alvar felt as if he had been shot. 

“ Ride on,” he said, breathlessly; then seized the driver of the 
trap by the shoulder — “Drive fast; I will give you five pounds if 
you will drive fast. My brother is ill; he will wmnt me.” 

“ Ay, sir — all right, sir,” said the lad, lashing up his horse. 

Alvar felt as if a telegraph would have been slow; but he folded 
his arms,' and sat like a statue till they reached the door, when he 
sprung out, and at the foot of the stairs saw Jack. 

“Alvar! you here!” he exclaimed. 

“ What is it?— where is he?— what has happened— tell me!” cried 
Alvar. 

“ Cherry went to Hazelby, of course, to clear Chris, as you were __ 
out ot the way. He was so done up w hen lie came back, and seems 
so evidently in for just such a bad attack as he had before, that 
granny, who came back here with me, sent for Mr. Adamson. Yes, 
he is in bed; he was wet through.” 

Jack’s face was like thunder; but Alvar dashed past him upstairs 
and opened the door of his brother’s room. 

Cheriton was sitting up in bed. He had recovered a little from 
the exhaustion of his hasty ride, and, though suffering much pain 
and oppression, was spending some of the little breath he had left, 
in trying to explain matters to his grandmother. 

“You always were a perverse lad, or you would, not be using 
your voice now, Cherry,” she said. “ When your brother comes 
back, I shall give him a piece of my mind.” 

“ There he is,” cried Cherry. There was a look in his eyes for a 
moment as if he hardly knew how they were to meet; but as Alvar 
advanced into the room, all his vehemence subsided. He came up 
to the bed, and laid his hand onCheriton’s with the old tender touch. 


244 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

“ You are ill, mi mro. 1 think you must not talk so much just 
now.” 

Cheriton looked up in his face, and read in it, steady as was the 
voice, an altogether new terror and trouble. 

“ This is my own fault,” he said. 44 1 was in such a hurry — that 
— I "would not wait tor the carriage. Alter all, there would have 
been time.” 

44 Oh, my brother — my brother!” cried Alvar, losing his self- 
control, 44 your fault! Grandmother, it is 1 who have let him kill 
himself.” 

44 You are just crazy,” said Mrs. Lester, agitated and angry, as 
Alvar rushed up to her, and threw himself on his knees beside her 
chair, clasping her hands in his. 44 1 don’t care whose fault it is. 
No doubt you are one as bad as the other. For the last halt hour 1 
have been trying to make Cherry hold his tongue, and now you 
make a 'worse turmoil than ever. Since my poor sou went, there is 
no one to look to.” 

Mrs. Lester was shaken and terrified by the shock of sudden 
alarm, and agitated by Alvar’s extraordinary behavior, and thus 
her still fresh grief came back on her, and she burst into tears. 

41 Oh, granny, don’t — don’t!’ cried Cherry, and the distress of 
his tone recalled Alvar to liis senses. 

44 Oh, 1 am a fool!” he said, and getting up, he applied himself 
to soothe his grandmother with all the tact of which, he was muster, 
and was so successful, that in a few minutes she went away in 
search of some remedy for Cheriton. who, as he was left alone with 
his brother, felt, spite of his increasing suffering, the old sense of 
repose in Alvar’s care creep over him. 

44 As violent an attack as. the last, and much less strength to meet 
it,” was the doctor’s verdict, and the great common terror hushed 
for the time all disputes and differences. 

Mrs. Lester remained at Oakby, Nettie had returned to London a 
few days previously, and both she and Bob held themselves ready 
for a sudden summons. 

Mrs. Lester questioned Alvar on that first evening about all that 
had passed, in a dry, caustic fashion, while he answered, meekly 
enough. 44 Why, ye’ll have made yourself a laughing-stock to the 
whole place,” was her only comment on the story "of the horse- 
whipping. 

Alvar colored to his temples, but said nothing; the reproach of 
Jack’s silent misery was much harder to hear. He who knew how 
all the last weeks had been troubled by Alvar’s fault, could not for- 
give, and felt that, if Cheriton died, lie could never bear the sight 
of Alvar again. 

Alvar himself w T as shaken and disturbed as he had never been 
before. He had lost all the calm hopefulness and power of living 
in the present, that had made him such a support in Cheriton ’s 
previous illness; and though he was still a devoted and efficient 
nurse to him, there were times when he was quite unable to con- 
trol his distress. He was frightened, and expected the worst; and 
poor Jack had to try to encourage him, a process that much soft- 
ened his indignation. 

All this was fully apparent to Cheriton, There was no longet 


245 


AK ENGLISH SQUIRE, 

the daze and confusion of that first attack of illness, the boyish as- 
tonishment at the fact of being ill at all, the novelty of all the sur- 
roundings, now, alas! so familiar; no longer, too, the sense that the 
exceeding sweetness of: life made death incredible; no longer the 
same instinctive dependence on those around. Since then Cheriton 
had traveled a long way on the road of life, had looked across the 
dark river, and grown familiar with the thought of its other shore; 
he was no longer frightened at his own suffering, or at its probable 
result, and, as his senses were generally clear, except sometimes at 
night, or when under the influence of the remedies, he was able to 
think for others — a habit in which he had gained considerable skill. 

He made Alvar write to Mr. Stan forth, and beg that Gipsy might 
write to Jack, knowing that the surprise and joy of such a letter, 
and the relief of pouring out his heart in the answer, must lighten 
the heavy weight of the poor boy’s anxiety; and so, in truth, it 
did, though Jack could never trust himself to thank Cherry for his 
kind thought. He also made the vicar go to Edward Fleming, and 
tell him that Alvar had only been a few minutes too late in coming 
to give evidence, and to entreat him to lay aside any ill feeling for 
the misunderstanding “ which, he said, ‘ was partly caused by my 
bad management.” He thought much about the state of affairs at 
Elderthwaite, or rather, perhaps, recalled at intervals much pre- 
vious thinking. He was not equal to anything like a connected 
conversation, and he knew that no one would let the poor vehement 
old parson come near him; but he greatly astonished his grand- 
mother by telling her that he nad an especial desire to see Virginia 
•Seyton. 

“ 1 can not talk enough to tell you why,” he said; “ but, granny, 
do get her to come.” . 

Mrs. Lester promised; for how could she refuse him? He gave 
a good many directions to Mr. Ellesmere, and in especial desired 
that a certain cup, won many years ago at some county athletic 
sports in a contest with his cousin Rupert, should be given to him 
as a remembrance. 

F*om only one thing Cheriton’s whole heart shrunk, and that was 
from forcing Jack to listen to parting words. He had several 
things to say to him, but he put them off; he could not bear the 
sight of Jack's grief, and in this case could not trust his own self- 
command. It was the one parting that he could not yet face. 

With Alvar it was different. In one way he had with him much 
less sense of self-restraint, and in another, things lay between them 
that must be cleared away. 

This state of things lasted for several days, and all the while the 
hard struggle between the remedies and the disease went on, a 
hand-to-hand fight indeed, and Cheiiton’s strength ebbed away,, till 
he knew that he dared wait no longer for whal he wanted to say. 

It had been raining, but the yellow, level light of an October 
evening was shining through the thinly-clothed boyghs of the great 
elms, and lighting up the russet and amber of the woodlands; while 
the purple hills beyond were still heavy with clouds— clouds reced- 
ing more and more as the clear blue spread over the sky. 

As Cheriton listened to the noise of the rooks, and looked out at 
the sunset, he recalled the awe and strange curiosity, the clinging 


m 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

to the dear home, to the dearer love wliicji had made life so dear; 
the attempted submission, the dim trust that death, if it came, must 
be well for him, with which he had first said to himself that he 
must die; remembered, too, other hours, when, in weakness of 
body and anguish of soul, he had found it still harder to believe 
that it must be well for him that he should live. The passionate 
joy, the passionate sorrow, had passed away, or rather had been 
offered at last as a willing sacrifice, and the loving kindly spirit had 
found sweetness in life without the first, while much anxipty, much 
trying disappointment, had succeeded to the second. Now there 
came over him a wonderful peace, as he summoned his strength for 
what he had in his mind to say. 

With a look and a sign he called Alvar over to him; and Jack, 
who was sitting apart in the window, watched and listened. 

“Alvar,” he said, taking hold of his hand, “1 see it clearly.” 
And the intent, wide open eyes, seemed to Jack as if they could 
indeed look beyond the mists of life. “We were wrong to wish 
you like ourselves. Forgive me. You --yourself — can be as good 
for Oakby as — 1 — yes — as my father. But there is only one way 
for us both — to love Cod with all our hearts, and our neighbor as 
ourself. To take pains about it for His sake. That is the truth, 
Alvar — the truth as 1 know it!” 

“Ah!” cried Alvar, “ but I do not love my neighbors! that is 
the difference. But 1 love you, oh! my brother— my brother! Is 
it religion that will make me what you wish? 1 will be religious; 

1 will no longer be careless; but oh, caro—caro mio ! If 1 lose you 
1 have no heart to change. I have grieved you. Oh! what puuislr- 
ment is there for me? I would do penance like Manoel. What 
can I do?” 

Alvar flung himself on his knees, the tears started in his eyes, 
and choked his voice. At last he was stirred to the depths, and in- 
stincts deeper than teaching or training came to the surface. 

“ YY>u know Who bore our sins tor us,” said Cheriton, “ because 
He loved us.” 

How much, or how little, Alvar knew, after his formal teaching, 
and careless, unmoved youth, would be hard to say; probably 
Cheriton could not conceive how little; but face, voice, and manner 
had moved Alvar’s soul to a great conviction, however little be real- 
ized what Cheriton had meant to say. 

He called on that name which his brothers had never heard from 
his lips before, save in some careless foreign oath.. • 

“ I swear,” he said — “ 1 swear that 1 will be a religious man, 
and that I will be a good squire to Oakby. 1 make it a vow if my 
brother recovers — ” 

“Oh, hush-hush!” interposed Cheriton. “If not— we shall 
meet again— and you must be good to Oakby. Let me know you 
will!” 

“1 will! 1 will!” cried Alvar, completely carried away. He 
would have thrown his arms round Cheriton, but Jack interposed— 

“ Alvar! Alvar! this is enough. He must not have this agita- 
tion.” Alvar yielded, but, too much overcome to control himself, 
rushed out of the room. 


AH ENGLISH SQUIRE. 247 

As he hurried blindly down the stairs be met Mr. Ellesmere, and 
with a suddeu impulse caught hold of his hand. 

“ Mr. Ellesmere, you are a priest. I have sworn to him that 1 
will change, that 1 will be religious. 1 give myselt up to you. 1 
will do whatever you wish. 1 swear to obey you — ” 

“ Gently, gently!” said the astonished vicar. “ You are too much 
agitated to know 'what you say. Come with me into the study; tell 
me what has passed. Believe me that 1 desire to help you in this 
great sorrow. ’ ’ 

Alvar followed him, and as Mr. Ellesmere talked and listened to 
him he began to hope that, in spite of an ignorance which he had 
hitherto had neither the conscientious desire nor the intellectual 
curiosity to diminish, in spite of blind impulses rashly followed, the 
will for good that must bring a blessing had at last been awakened, 
even in this strange longing tor vow and penance, an instinct that 
seemed inherited without the faith from which it had sprung. 
Alvar was in the mood which might have made his Spanish ances- 
tors vow all their wordly goods away and think to buy a blessing, 
and to listen to him without unduly checking his vehemence, and yet 
to lead his thoughts upward, was a hard task; since Alvar was left 
subdued and quieted, and yet with an inkling of what had been 
really wrong with him, it may be inferred that Mr. Ellesmere suc- 
ceeded better than he had hoped to do. 

Meanwhile, to poor Jack, every word of Cheriton’s had thrilled 
with a thousand meanings. He kn«v that silence was imperative, 
and did not mean to say another w r ord; but Cherry felt his hand 
tremble as he gave him some water, and looked up at him with a 
smile. 

‘‘You will have Gipsy soon,” he whispered, “ my own dear boy.” 

Jack pressed his hand. ‘‘To take pains for His sake.” With 
his whole heart Jack recognized this key-note. Nothing else would 
do. Even Gipsy could not by herself give his life the full joy of a 
sufficient purpose; but as he thought of all the currents through 
winch he must steer, and knew too well which way they often set, 
he shuddered. 

“It 1 had not you to talk everything out with!” he said, in- 
adequately enough. 

‘* Oh, Jack, if 1 can’t help you still, it will be because the work 
is done better. I don’t fancy now that every! hing hangs on me. I 
am content.” 

And Jack felt that the memory of that perfect contentment could 
never pass away from him. 


CHAPTER X. 

MY LADY AND MY QUEEN. 

“ Let all be well— he well.” 

So, Queenie, you see there will soon be an end of it all!” 

The speaker was Miss Seyton. She stood looking down at her 
niece with an odd quiver in lip and voice, even while her tone was 
not altogether a sad one. Virginia sat in dismayed silence; she had 
been arranging a bunch of autumn leaves and berries to brighten up 


248 


- AH EHGLISH SQUIRE. 

the dark old drawing-room, which bore many a trace of her presence 
in bits of needle-work and tokens of pleasant occupation, though 
the house w r as duller and quieter than ever now that Mr. Sey ton’s 
rapidity failing health gave him the habits of an invalid, and that 
both the bo} T s were absent. Miss Seyton looked more faded than 
ever, but she was kind and friendly with Virginia, even though she 
could not divest her voice of its sarcastic tone as she continued — 

“You are a person of consequence, and you ought to understand 
the state of the case.” 

“ That Poland means to sell Elderthwaite?” said Virginia, slowly. 

“Yes. We can’t afford, Virginia, to make pretenses to each 
other, and we know that it will come before many months. Then 
what are we to do?” 

However much it went against Virginia to discuss the results of 
her father’s death she felt that there was some. truth in her aunt’s 
words, that they ought to be prepared for so great a change; and 
she had also learned to practice great directness in dealing with Miss 
Seyton. 

“ I have sometimes supposed that you would live at the Vicarage, 
Aunt Julia,” she said. 

“Hot if I have a penny to live on elsewhere,” replied Miss Sey- 
ton. “ James and 1 were never friends, and I’ll not see the place in 
the hands of strangers. Besides, I’ve had a thirteen years’ im- 
prisonment, and I’d like my freedom. Look here— when 1 was a 
girl 1 was just like the others; 1 loved pleasure as well as they did, 
and had it too. 1 was as dafing as ever a Seyton of them all. 
However, 1 meant to marry and live in the south, and I was quite 
good enough, my dear, tor the man 1 was engaged to. Then he 
quarreled with James, and that began the breach. 1 didn’t marry, 
as you may see, and when w?/ father died my portion couldn’t be 
paid off without a sale, and things were in such a mess 1 had no 
power to claim it. So here 1 stayed, and, let me tell you, I’ve 
stopped up a good many holes, and been quite as great a blessing 
to my family as they deserved.” 

Virginia laughed in spite of herself, though her answer was 
grave. 

“ Yes, 1 know that, now.” 

“ But note, d’ye see, Virginia, I’m tired of it. I’m only fifty, and 
it’ll go hard if 1 don’t get some pickings out of the sale of the es- 
tate. Do you know, we have some old cousins living in Bath— ^ 
Kuth and Virginia of another generation? I’m inclined to think 1 
should like to go into society — to ‘come out,’ in fact, in a smart 
cap, and to live within reach of a circulating library and scandal. 
That’s my view, and that’s what I mean to aim at when the time 
comes. What do you say?” 

“ I^hould like the boys to have a home somehow,” said Vir- 
ginia. “ Perhaps that would make some place into home for me.” 

“ 1 don’t wish to desert you,” said Miss Seyton, “ but candidly I 
think we should be happier apart. We shouldn’t amuse each other 
if we lived together. But won’t James w r aut to keep you?” 

“ 1 don’t know,” said Virginia. “ 1 am afraid it would not be a 
good plan for the boys to go there for holidays— if this place is to be 
given up. But oh, Aunt Julia, how can we tell what will happen? 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 249 

1 can’t make plans; 1 rlon’l feel as if it mattered; and Roland seems 
to want to cast us all off.” 

“Yes; he’s a selfish fellow. But, my dear, just consider how 
much worse it would be, if we had to take him on. Thank your 
stars that he means to sta}' in India. And as tor the place, with its 
paint and its fences and its broken glass, let it go. We’re better free 
of it. He is right there. The worst part of the story is poor old 
James, who must stay.” 

“ He can’t. forgive Roland.” 

No — you see, Queenie, it’s wits that tell — James hasn’t brains, 
and he has never thought of cubing himself loose. He couidn t 
live away from Elderth waite, any more than he could live without 
his skin. But when he hasn’t the family dignity to keep him up, 
I’m afraid he’ll go down.” 

“lie is so wretched now about Oheriton Lester.” 

‘‘ Yes. He is the only Lester worth fretting for. As for that prig 
Jack, I’d like to see him make a fool of himself. I’d like to see him 
4 exceed his allowance considerably.’ There’s a pretty way of put- 
ting it for you !” 

With which parting shot Miss Seyton went away, and Virginia 
sat sorrowful and perplexed, and with something of the family bit- 
terness in her heart. Lite was very hard to her. Her love for each 
one of her relations was a’ triumph over difficulties, and the sweet 
spontaneous passion that had promised to make her happy had been 
in its turn triumphed over by the uncongeniality of her lover. The 
softness of early youth and of her previous training had been re- 
placed by something of the strength that expects little and makes 
the best of a bad business, but at a risk— the risk of the sense that 
evil is inevitable. Virginia was always outwardly gentle; but she 
had been thrown back on herself till she had gained a self-reliance 
that the Seyton blood in her was ready to exaggerate into scorn. 
For even Ruth was slow in answering her letters, and never wrote 
as in her girlish days. 

As she sat musing a note was brought to her. It was from Mr. 
Lester, containing Cheriton’s imperative request that she would 
come and see him. Would she come at once? 

. Virginia’s cheeks flamed as if the missive had been from Alvar 
himself. She got up and put the note in her pocket, dressed her. 
self, and leaving word with one of the servants that she meant to 
take a walk, set forth without delay for Oakby,’ walking through 
the plantations, across the fell, and through the fir-wood, as she had 
scarcely ever done alone before. She remembered going as Alvar’s 
betrothed to ask for Oheriton during his first illness, and Alvar’s 
absorption and indifference to her presence. Now that would be 
natural enough. Still she could scarcely think of Cheriton in her 
dread and wonder as to who might greet her, as she rang at the 
bell, and asked for Mrs. Lester, who came forward into the hall to 
receive her. 

44 My dear,” she said, 44 1 do not know what Cherry wants with 
you ; but we can’t refuse him. Will you come at once?” 

Virginia was afraid to ask questions, she followed the old lady’s 
slow progress up the dusky staircase and into Clieri ton’s room. 


250 AH ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

The daylight was now fast fading, hut its last rays fell on Cheri- 
ton's wide-opened eyes and flushed face. 

He took hold of Her hand, and said with extreme difficulty — 

“Thank you— my love to the parson. Ask Jack what 1 meant 
to do — and then tell him. Tell him- -I say— he musTreform Elder- 
th waite for my sake. He must do it himself. 1 know he can. Don’t 
let him be one of the abuses. Don’t get into despair.” He paused 
for breath, and then with an accent and smile that through all the 
sufic ering had something of his old playful daring, “ 1 mustn't 
say anything else to you, but that will come right too.” 

“ 1 will tell him,” faltered Virginia, awed, bewildered, and yet 
with a strange sense of encouragement; she let herself be drawn 
away, beard Mrs. Lester say that it was too dark for her to go home 
alone, she should send Jack with her to get a breath of air, while 
Cherry was suffering less. He was so fully himself it was hard to 
believe in the danger, but the attacks of coughing were most ex- 
hausting, and he could haidly take anything, she was very hope- 
less, and “my grandson” — this always meant Alvar — thought 
badly of him. “ Come in here, my clear, and L will fetch Jack.” 

As Mrs. Lester put her into the library, and left her there alone 
in the dusk, the tears that she had hitherto restrained broke forth. 

She thought that she was crying for Cheriton, but all her own 
sad future, all her yearnings for the lost past, mingled together, 
and she wept the more because, she knew not how, Cheriton had 
given her a sort of indefinite comiort. 

She did not hear the study door open, nor see Alvar come through 
the room, nor did he see her in the dim liaht, till he heard her sob- 
bing. 

“ -Who is it?” he exclaimed, becoming aware of a woman’s figure 
near the fire. She started up, and with her first movement he knew 
her. “ Mi dofia /” he cried in his astonishment. 

“ Cherry asked to see me,” she faltered. “He is so ill— 1 could 
not help crying.” 

“ Ah, no!” said Alvar; “ and 1 may not comfort you!” 

But he came close and stood by her side, and she saw that he too 
was greatly agitated. She wanted to speak about Cheriton, but she 
could not command her voice, nor think of a word to say. 

Suddenly Alvar turned and clasped her hand. 

‘ Ah!”’ he cried, with such vehemence as she had never seen in 
him before. “ My heart is breaking! Can you never forgive? 1 
love you; I have alwaj T s loved you. When you sent me from you, 
it was my pride that let me submit. In my own country I knew 
that for your sake 1 was English — English altogether. I am not 
worthy, but 1 repent. 1 have confessed. Help me, and 1 will be a 
good Englishman! For I have now no other country, and 1 can 
not, live without you. Give me your hand once more!” 

Alvar poured -forth this torrent with such burning eagerness, such 
abandonment of entreaty, that he did not see how weak were the 
defenses he was attacking. 

“ Indeed,” she whispered, “ it was not that— not that 1 thought 
you were— not good— 1 thought you did not love me — much.” 

“ 1 did— 1 do love you — I love you as my life! But you?” 

“ I have always loved you. I could not change,” she said, with 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE* 261 

something of her old gentle dignity. “ But — 1 have been very un- 
happy all this time.” 

“ Ah, now you shall be happy! Yet, what do I say? How can 
7 make any one happy! 1 who have grieved and vexed my brother 
with my unkindness— nay, caused bis illness even— I can hot make 
you happy!” said Alvar, in a tone of real self blame. 

”1 think you can!” said Virginia softly ; but the words had 
hardly passed her lips w T hen she started away from him, as Jack 
came into the room. 

‘‘Granny says 1 am to walk home with you, Virginia. "What, 
Alvar, are you here? they have been looking lor you. Do go to 
Cherry — he is so restless now!” 

“ 1 will go,” said Alvar. “ Take care of her, Jack, for 1 must 
not come. Farewell, mi reina /” He took both her hands and 
kissed them, then put her toward Jack, and hurried away; while 
poor Virginia glanced in much confusion at her escort; but he was 
loo much absorbed in grief and anxiely to take in what had passed, 
or to heed it it he did. He walked on by her side without speaking 
till she, trying to collect her thoughts, and actuated by a very un- 
necessary fear of what, he would think of her silence, bethought 
herself to ask him what Cheriton wished her to tell her uncle. 

“ He said I was to ask you.” 

“ He wanted to take orders, and be curate of Elderth waite,” said 
Jack. " You know London did not suit him, and the work was too 
hard, and life at home was so worrying for him. Besides, he hated 
being idle. He thought that he coiild manage to get things right at 
Eldeithwaite, and he said that he should like it, and be happy 
there.” 

Jack spoke in a dull, heavy voice, his use of the past tense mark- 
ing how completely he regarded the possibilities of which he spoke 
as at an end; and something in the tone showing that the proposal 
had been distasteful to him. 

“Mould Cherry have given himself for that?” exclaimed Vir- 
ginia. 

“ Yes,” said Jack. “1 didn’t like it. It seemed a great sacri- 
fice, and besides— he was not half strong enough.” 

“ But did he care so much? 1 don’t mean Jhat I can’t understand 
his wishing to take orders— but just for Elderthicaite ! ” 

“ He is very fond of Elderthwaite. And he said that it w^as only 
because he fancied that he could be more useful there than any one 
else; and because he has money, that he was justified in proposing 
it— because he was ill, 1 mean.” 

“ Indeed, lie could do good there. He always did!” 

“ You know,” said Jack, rather more freely, “ that Cherry has a 
notion that when a person seems specially marked out for any situa- 
tion, he is likely, in the long run, to be the best person for it. lie 
says you can’t destroy evil without good. That people their own 
places, and so he believes that Elderthwaite would do better, in the 
long run, if Parson Seyton could be encouraged to make things a lit- 
tle more ship-shape, Ilian it would with a new man, if he were 
driven away. You see he gets fond of people'. 7 don’t see it; 1 
think it’s fanciful. All reformers begin with a clean sweep. Then 
Cherry said valuables were sometimes found in the dust; nobody 


252 AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

would reform if you ran at them with a bqsom. Of course he could 
persuade people;* at any rate, he always thought he could.’' 

“ He thinks the sun is more powerful than the north wind,” said 
Virginia. “ 1 am sure Uncle James would have given in to him.” 

“ So he said. But he was mistaken- in one case, and then he 
blamed himself, and I suppose— I suppose— he has conquered at 
last! Any way, Virginia, you were to tell your uncle, what he 
wished to do.” 

“ 1 will tell him. lie is breaking his heart about Cherry now.” 

“ 1 suppose so. 1 can’t come in. Good-by; we’ll send over in 
the morning.” 

Jack turned away. Olieriton’s kindly theories might seem fanci- 
ful to him; but he would never have the chance of knocking them 
on the head any more. He was so miserable that even the thought 
of Gipsy only made him feel her absence, and wonder if so bright 
a creature could continue to care for him, when he had grown into 
a stern, hard-hearted person, without any power of softening. Poor 
Jack’s hard heart was very heavy, and beat so fast as he came up to 
the house, that he could hardly ask it there was any change. 


CHAPTER XL 

MY DEAR! 

“ But still be a woman to you.” 

Early the next morning Virginia received a letter from Alvar, 
written at intervals during his night; watch in Cheriton's room. 
Perhaps it was the first real communication she had ever received 
from him, and in it he made a sort of confession of his shortcom- 
ings, as. far as he himself understood them. He told her that he 
had been “ revengeful ” toward his father, and that in the aft air ol 
the Flemings he liad.allowed “ the passion of jealousy ” to over- 
come him. He recounted his promise to Cheriton, and with the 
simplicity that was at once so strange and so engaging a part of his 
character, assured her “ thal he was uo longer indifferent to relig- 
ion,” but would follow the instructions of Mr. Ellesmere. “I 
think,” he added, “ that this will give you pleasure.” 

There was a great deal about Cheriton, Alvar declaring that he 
could not now despair of anything, but that he should have written 
to her at such a time, and about himself, was enough to mark the 
change in bis former relations with Virginia. - 

The change in himself she was ready to take for granted. All 
must be right where there was such humility ana power of repent- 
ance; and perhaps she did him more justice than even Cheriton 
could have done. For Alvar had undergone no change of intellect- 
ual conviction, that element was wanting, both in his former care- 
lessness, and in his present acceptance of a new obligation, and in 
the excitement of feeling under which he was acting love and re 
morse toward his brother had the largest share. But he had recog- 
nized himself as erring, and intended to amend, and such a resolu- 
tion must bring a blessing. But as his brothers would only have 
altered any settled line of conduct, after infinite heart-searchings and 


253 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

perplexities, they could not have conceived how simple the matter 
appeared to Alvar, when he had once made up his mind that he could 
possibly have been in fault. 

Virginia had said nothing the night before ot her changed pros- 
pects; she knew tliattke Lesters could have no thought to spare tor 
her; but when her aunt suggested sending over To inquire, she 
could not pretend ignorance, and her blush and few words of ex- 
planation were enough for Miss Seyton. 

“ Ah, well,” she said, “ you might have saved yourself a great 
deal of trouble if you had found this out a little sooner.” 

“We cannot speak of il just now, auntie.” 

“ No: but you say, don’t you, that everything happens for good? 
Now this good has come out of Cherry’s illness; perhaps he’ll get 
well.” 

After these characteristic congratulations Virginia took her way 
to the Vicarage. She found her uncle in his “ study,” a room which 
was sufficiently well lined with ancient and orthodox divinity to 
merit the name, though the highly respectable volumes, descended 
from some unwontedly learned Seyton vicar, did not often see the 
light. 

The parson was looking out of the window down the road. 

“ Ah, how d’ye do, my dear?” he said, in unwontedly quiet ac- 
cents. “ 1 was just looking out, for 1 sent over to Oakby to inquire 
how that poor lad is to-day.” 

“We have heard,” said Virginia. “I don’t think he is any 
worse. And, uncle, 1 saw 7 him yesterday; he sent for me to give 
me a message for you.” 

“ A message! Well, my lassie, what did he say?” 

Virginia came and stood behind the chair in which her uncle had 
seated himself. 

“ He wished me to tell you that he had been making up his mind 
to take orders, and that he loved Elderthw r aite so much that he 
meant to ask you if you would let him come and be your curate, 
that you and he together might set things right here. But he said 
that now that will never be. And he sent his love, and I was to 
ask you to reform Eldertkwaite for his sake. He said, ‘ Tell him 1 
know he can, better than any one, it he will/ ” 

Virginia paused, as her voice faltered. 

“ Why, bless my soul,” cried the parson, “ what does the lad 
mean? WI13 7 , I’m one of the old abuses myself.” 

“ Yes — yes — uncle. But that is what he said. Y r ou must not be 
one of the abuses. He said you might do it all, if you would, be- 
cause you love the place more than any one can.” 

There was a silence. The parson sat still. 

“ Heis a good lad— he alwa3's was a good lad,” he said, alter a 
pause. “ And did he think to come here, to spend his time over a 
parcel of scamps and drunkards? Eh! I shouldn’t have believed 
it. He had heard that they w T ant me to have a curate, 1 suppose,” 
he added, quickly. 

“ Oh, 3 7 es, uncle; but. ho was afraid that you w 7 ould not like it.” 

“ Look here, my lassie, I like the old met body in his proper 
place; hut I’ll have no psalm-singers in my church, I’m a sound 
Churchman, and 1 don’t approve of it,” 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


254 

Virginia, finding an objection to psalm-singing in church,' rather 
difficult, to reply to, was silent, aud her uncle went on rapidly — 

“ 1 hate the whole tribe of your earnest , hard-working, ‘ self-de- 
voted’ young fellows — find it pay, and bring them into the society 
of gentlemen— write letters in trumpery newspapers, and despise their 
elders. Newspapers have nothing to do with religion. The Prayer- 
book’s the Prayer-book, and a paper’s a paper. Give me 4 Bell’s 
Lite.’ Bless you, my dear, do you think 1 keep my eyes shut?” 

“ You are not just, uncle,” said Virginia. 44 ButCheriton would 
not have been like that.” 

Mr. Seyton’s twinkfing eyes softened, and the angry resistance to 
a higher standard, tilin' mingled with the half-shrewd, half-scornful 
malice of his words, subsided, as he,said, in quite a different tone — 

44 1 w 7 ould have had Cheriton for my curate, my dear.” 

He said no more, and Virginia could not press him; and when he 
spoke it was only to question her. about Cheriton’s condition. 

But when she went away he took his hat and walked out through 
his bit of garden toward the church, and sitting down on the low 
stone wall, looked over the church-yard, where a fine growth of net- 
tles halt smothered the broken gravestones; and as he sat there he 
thought of his past life, of his dissipated, godless youth, of the 
sense of desperation with which, to pay his debts, he had 44 gone 
into the Church,” of the horrible evils he had never tried to check, 
and yet of the certain kindliness he had entertained toward his own 
people. How he had defied censure and resisted example till his 
fellow-clergy looked askance at him, and though he might affect to 
despise them, he did not like their contempt. He thought of the 
family crash that was coming, and he was keen enough to know 
how he would be regarded by new comers — 4 4 -as an old abuse.” And 
he thought of Cheriton’s faith in him, and the project inspired as 
much by love foi him as by the zeal for reform. He thought of the 
first time he had read the service, the sense of incongruity, of shame- 
facedness; how a sort of accustomedness had grown upon him till 
he had felt himself a parson after a sort, and how, on a low level, 
he had in a way adapted his life to the requirements of his profes- 
sion. 

Then he thought of the way Cheriton had proposed such a step 
to hims'elf, and, without entering into any of those higher feelings 
which might have repelled rather than attracted him, he contrasted 
with his own the unselfishness of the motive that prompted Cheri- 
ton. 

He made no resolutions, drew no conclusions, but unconsciously 
lie was looking at life from a new standpoint. 

Virginia did not see Alvar, nor hear directly from him all that 
day; and but tor the letter in her possession, her interview with 
him would have seemed like a dream. 

The next morning was sunny and still. She stood on the steps at 
the garden door, looking over the lawn, now glistening with thick 
autumn dew. The sky was. clear and blue, the wild overgrown 
shrubberies that shut out the landscape were tinted with brown and 
gold, an 44 autumn blackbird” sung low and sweet. All was so 
peaceful that it seemed as if ill news could not break in upon it; 
yet, as the old church clock chimed the hour, and through the still 


255 


. an English squire. 

air that of Oakby sounded in the distance, Virginia started lest it 
should be the beginning ot tlie knell. As the sound of the clock 
died away, the gate in the shrubbery clicked, a quick step sounded, 
and Alvar came up the path. 

Virginia could wait no longer; she ran to meet him, gathering 
hope from his face as she approached. 

“ Yes, he is better. There is hope now; but all yesterday he grew 
weaker every moment. I thought he would die.” 

Alvar’s voice trembled, and he spoke with more abandonment 
than was usual with him; he looked very pale, and had evidently 
gone through much. He added details of their suspense, and of 
Cherry’s condition, “as if,” Virginia thought, “ he loanteil to talk 
to me.” 

“You are very tired,” she said. “Come in and have some 
breakfast. Auntie and I always have it here.” 

She took him into the drawing-room, where there was a litt le ta- 
ble near the fire, and made him sit down, while she waited on him, 
and poured out the tea. She did not feel a bit afraid of him now, 
and, spite of his punctilious gallantry, he submitted to her atten- 
tions without any of the forms and ceremonies with which he had 
previously made a distance between them. 

“ Y T ou have been up all night. I think you ought to have gone to 
bed, instead of coming here,” she said, sure of a contradiction. 

“ It is a gieat deal better thangoingto sleep toseeyou, my dear!” 
said Alvar, quaintly; and Virginia thought she liked the homely 
English better than the magnificent Spanish in which he had been 
wont to term her his lady and his queen. 

“lam getting very hungry, Virginia,” said Miss Seyton, open- 
ing the door. “ May 1 come in to breakfast?” 

“Oh, but that is shocking!” cried Alvar, springing up and ad- 
vancing to meet her. “ Miss Seyton, I have brought good news of 
my brother. But 1 must go home now, he may want me. Perhaps 
if he is still better 1 can come again by-and-by.” 

“ Only think,” said Virginia, as she went with him through the 
garden on her way to the Vicarage to tell the good news to her uncle, 
” only think, when the clock struck just before you came, 1 was 
afraid it was the beginning of the knell!” 

“Ah, 1 trust we shall not hear that terrible sound now!” said 
Alvar, gravely. 

And yet before that day closed the old bell of Elderthwaite church 
was tolling, startling every one with the sudden conviction that that 
morning’s hope had proved delusory. It fiightened Mr. Ellesmere 
as he came home from a distant part of his parish, though a mo- 
ment’s reflection showed him that his own church tower was silent. 
What could be the matter elsewhere? 

There was a rush of people to the lodge gates at Oakby, to be met 
there by eager questions as to what was the matter at Elderthwaite? 
“It must be old Mr. Seyton, took off on a sudden,” they said. 
“ Well, so long as Mr. Cherry was getting better — ” 

But before curiosity could take any one down the lane to verify 
this opinion, up came the parson’s mnn from Elderthwaite with a 
letter ior Mr. Lester, anc\ the news that a telegram had be.en received 


#56 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

two hours before at (lie hall, to say that Mr. Roland had been killed 
out tiger-hunting in India. 

There was more consternation than grief. Roland had not felt 
nor inspired affection in his own family; in the neighborhood his 
character was regarded with disapproval, and his sarcaslic tongue 
remembered with dislike. He had intensified all the worst charac- 
teristics of the family. 

Virginia had scarcely ever seen him; his father and uncle had so 
resented his determination to sell the estate, though it had perhaps 
been the wisest resolve he had ever come to, that he had been to 
them as an enemy. 

But still the chief sense in all their minds was that the definite, it 
distatsteful, prospect, to which they had been beginning to look 
forward, had melted away, and that all the future was chaos. 

Dick, suddeuly become a person of importance, and now within 
a month or two of coming of age, was sent for from London. He 
had improved in looks and manner, and seemed duly impressed with 
the gravity” of his situation. He was told what Roland’s intentions 
had been, and that liis father’s life could not be prolonged for many 
months; listened to Mr. Seyton’s faltering and contused explanations 
of the state of affairs, and to his uncle’s more vigorous, but not 
much more lucid, denunciation of it. Dick said not a word in reply, 
he asked a few questions, and at last went down into the drawing- 
room where his sister was sitting alone. He walked over to the win- 
dow and stood looking out of it. 

“ Virginia,” he said, “ 7 don’t wish to sell Eldertliwaite.” 

“ Do you tliitfk it can be helped, Dick?” she said, eagerly. 

“ I don’t know. I'm not in debt like Roland— that is, anything 
to speak of. 1 don’t want to wipe the family out of the county for 
good and all. Why couldn't the place be let for a term of 
years?” 

“ But — it is so much out of repair!” 

“ Yes,” said Dick, shrewdly, “ but it’s an awfully gentlemanly- 
looking place yet. Fellows who have made a fortune in trade want 
to get their position settled before they buy an estate, or to make a 
little more money first. I heard Mr. Stanforth talking about some 
old place in the south where there w T ere fine pictures, which had 
been let in that way. Well then, of course, some sacrifices must be 
made; something was done with the money Cheriton Lester paid 
for Uplands. Then there’s all that part out Ashrigg way — Cuddi- 
well, you know, and High Ashrigg. Those two farms have always 
paid rent. . If they were sold— they're handy either for the Les- 
ters or the Hubbards — we might put things to rights a little in that 
way.” 

‘ Y am glad you care about Eldertliwite, Dick,”said Virginia, im- 
petuously. 

“ Oh,- as to that,” returned Dick, ” I don’t know that 1 go in for 
any sentiment about it. Of course, I couldn’t live here for years 
lo come. I’m not quite such a fool as 1 was once", Virginia, thanks 
to you and some others 1 could name; and I should go on as 1 am 
for the present. But it makes a difference in a man’s position to 
have a place like this in the background, even if it is tumbling to 


AK EKGLISH SQUIRE. 257 

pieces. A girl with money might think twice whether she wouldn’t 
be Mrs. Seyton of Eldertli waite.” 

“ Oh, Dick! don’t marry a girl for her money,” said Virginia, 
half laughing; but she could never have imagined herself listening 
with so much respect to Dick’s sentiments. 

In truth, want of sense and insight had never been the cause of 
the Seytons’ errors; but just as in some men a warm heart and 
tender conscience fail to make head against violent passion, so that 
they feel their sins while they commit them, so in the Seytons a 
shrewd mental sense ol their own folly had always coexisted with 
the headstrong self-will which had overridden it. Dick had a less 
passionate nature, and was, moreover, less at the mercy ol circum- 
stances than if he had been brought up as the heir, and Ins friends 
in London were sensible people. 

“ Perhaps,” said his sister, “ you might ask Alvar what he thinks 
of it.” 

“ Alvar? Oh, ho! is that come to pass again? So, you’ve made 
it up. Well, it is a good thing that you liave some one to take care 
of you,” said Dick, sententiously. 

Alvai was taken into council, and the results of much discussion 
and consideration may be briefly told. 

Dick’s plans were hailed by liis lather and uncle as an escape from 
a prospect which had made death doubly bitter to the one, and the 
rest of life distasteful to the other. And an unexpected purchaser 
of the two farms was found in Judge Cheriton, who had been talk- 
ing for some time of buying a small property which might be a 
home for him when his public career was over, and a holiday retreat 
tor the present. There was a f aim-liouse at High Aslirigg which 
might be improved into a modern antique of the style at present ad- 
mired. The two farms were therefore purchased at once of Mr. 
Seyton himself, and with his full consent and approval. 

The rest of Dick’s plans could not be carried out in his father’s 
lifetime, but it was agreed to by Mr. Seyton as the best thing his 
heir could do. 

All this time Cheriton was mending slowly, but with much un- 
certainty as to how far his recovery would be complete. lie very 
soon detected the turn that Alvar’s affairs had taken, much to his 
satisfaction; but Jack, guessing that the news of Roland’s death 
would be a shock to him, it was not till he had begun to insist that 
his own state must not again delay Alvar’s marriage, that he heard 
the story of which it might have been said “ that nothing in Roland 
J3ey ton’s life became him like the leaving of it;” for it proved that 
he had met his death by an act of considerable bravery, which had 
saved the lives of others of the party. Perhaps Cheriton, unable to 
be untender to the memory of his boyish ideal, gave him a truer 
regret than any of his own family. 

He listened with great interest to all the future arrangements, and 
was the first to suggest that his old acquaintance, Mr. Wilson’s son, 
was to be married to a young lady of fortune, and might form a 
possible future tenant for Elderthwaite. 

As tor the rest, even setting her deep mourning aside,* Virginia 
would not hear of marrying while her father grew daily weaker; 

9 


258 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

nor was Cheriton at all equal 1o the Inevitable excitement and diffi- 
culty of arranging plans for the winter which must have ensued. 

It ended, as soon as he was able to bear the journey, in his going 
to Torquay with Alvar, to stay for the present. Mrs. Lester went 
back to Ashrigg, and Oakby was once more left solitary. 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE YEOMANRY MEETING. 

“ All’s right with the world . 11 

It was a bright morning just before Whitsuntide in the ensuing 
year, when the bluebells were still adorning the Elderth waite plan- 
tations, and the ivy on the church was fresh with young green 
shoots. Once more Parson Seyton sat on the church-yard wall watch- 
ing his nettles, which now, however, were falling beneath the scythe, 
while a space had previously been carefully cleared and trimmed 
round a handsome cross-marked stone of gray granite, which showed 
the spot where Mr. Seyton had rested, now for nearly three months. 
Suddenly a step came up the lane and through the gate, and the 
parson sprung up joyfully as Cheriton Lester came toward him. 

“ Well, my boy— -well Sp- heps you are, back at last. And how 
are you?” 

” Oh, 1 am very well—quite well now,” said Cheriton. 

And indeed, though the figure was still very slight, the hand he 
held eagerly out still overwhite and thin, the color too bright and 
variable for perfect health and strength, he looked full of life and 
spirits, overjoyed, as he said, to find himself at home again. 

“ Oh, yes, Alvar is here, of course, and we started together; but 
we met Virginia in the lane, and then— I thought I would comeand 
find you. How lovely it all looks!” 

“ Ah, more to your taste than Mentone?” 

Cherry laughed. “ My taste was always a prejudiced one,” he 
said; ” but Mr. Stanforth and 1 were very jolly at Mentone, espe- 
cially when Jack joined us. How did Alvar get on up here by him- 
self at Christmas?” 

“ He got on very well 7iere—\t by here you mean Elderth waite. 
As for Oakby, he attended all the dinners and suppers and meetings 
and institutions like a hero. But I suspect he and iris tenants still 
look on one another from a respectful distance.” 

‘ Ah, they won’t be able to resist him next week, he’ll look so 
picturesque in his yeomanry uniform. We shall have a grand meet- 
ing ” 

“ The volunteers keep the ground, 1 understand?” said the parson. 

“ Yes, myself included. There doesn’t seem to be much for them 
to do, and they wished me to come very much. Then, you know, 
we have bad a grand explanation about Jack’s affairs, and granny 
and Nettie have got Gipsy with them; so Sir John found out that 
the pictures wanted Mr. Stanforth, and he is coming down. Then 
Jack couldn’t resist, and managed to get a couple of days’ leave. So 
the only thing to wish lor is fine weather. But 1 am not forgetting,” 


A 1ST ENGLISH SQUIRE. 259 

continued Cherry, in a different tone, “ that here you have all had a 
good deal ot trouble.’ ’ 

“Well,” said the parson, “ it was a great break up and turn out; 
and I’m bound to own your brother was a great help in getting 
through it. Julia, she is gone off to Bath, and writes as if she liked 
it; and 1 was very glad that Virginia should stay here with me lor 
the present. Mr. Wilson has taken the place for his son, and it is 
being put in order. But all in the old style, you know. Cherry,” 
said the parson, with a wink, “ no vulgar modernisms.” 

“ Fred Wilson’s a very nice fellow,” said Cherry. 

He had sat down on the wall by the parson, and now, after a 
pause began abruptly — 

“I saw Dr. A again as we came through London. He says 

that I am much better; indeed, there is nothing absolutely the mat- 
ter with me. I haven’t got disease of the lungs, though of course 
there is a tendency to it, and I shall always be liable to" bad attacks 
of cold. He says 1 should be better for some definite occupation, 
partly out of doors. He does not think London would suit me, but 
this sort of bracing air might do better than a softer one, as 1 was 
born here, except perhaps lor a month or two in the winter. I may 
get much slronger, he thinks, or — But it was a very good account 
to get, wasn’t it?” 

“ Tes, my lad, I’m glad to hear it — as far as It goes,” said the 
parson, looking intently at him. Cheriton looked away with deepen- 
ing color, and said, rather formally — 

“ 1 thought that 1 ought to tell you all this, sir, because I have 
never yet felt justified in referring to what 1 asked Virginia to tell 
you last year. But my wishes remain the same, and if you think 
with such doubtful health 1 could be of any service to you or to the 
place — I— 1 should like to try it.” 

“ Why, if you have your health, you might do better than be my 
curate,” said the parson. 

“But 1 won’t exemplify a certain proverb! In short,” said 
Cherry, looking up and speaking in a more natural manner, “ if 
you’ll have me, parson. I’ll come.” 

“ And suppose 1 say 1 won’t have you?” 

“ Then 1 should have to ask the bishop to find me another curacy,” 
said Cherilon. “ I have quite made up my mind; even if 1 could 
follow the career 1 once looked forward to, which is impossible, 1 
should not wish it. I’ve had some trouble, only one thing has made 
it bean ble. I should like to help others to find that out. But 1 
want to help my old neighbors most. I made up my mind with this 
place chiefly in my thoughts. 1 care for it, for many reasons. But 
nothing now would induce me to change my intention of taking 
orders, if 1 have the health to carry il out.” 

An odd sort of struggle was evident in the old parson’s weather- 
beaten face. 

“ They’d work him to death in some fine church at a watering- 
place, with music and sermons, and all soits of services,” he mut- 
tered to himself. 

“ Yes; 1 don’t think that that would suit me as well as Elder- 
thwaite.” 

“Then, my lad,” said the parson, with some dignity, “1 will 


260 


AX ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

have you. And, Cherry, 1—1 understand you. 1 know that you 
have stood by me, ever since you dusted out the old church for the 
bishop.” 

44 That’s just what 1 want to do now!” said Cherry. 44 Thank 
you: you have made me very happy. There are Alvar and 
Queenie,” and with a hearty squeeze of the hand he started up and 
went to meet them. The parson remained behind, and as Cheriton 
moved away from him he lifted his rusty old felt hat for a moment, 
and said emphatically — 

44 I’m an old sinner!” 

The morning of the Yeomanry Review dawned fair and bright, 
and brought crowds together to the wide stretch of moorland above 
Ashrigg, where the review was to take place. Whitsuntide was a 
time to make holiday, and halt Oakby and Eldertliwaite was there 
to see. The only drawback was that Virginia’s mourning was still 
too deep to admit of her sharing in so large a county gathering, for 
which she cared the less, as Alvar, in his blue and silver, mounted 
on the best horse in the Oakby stables, and looking as splendid as a 
knight of romance, rode round by the Vicarage to show himself to 
her. 

But Parson Bey ton was present in a new black coat and a very 
conspicuous white tie mounted, he assured Cheriton, to do credit to 
his future curate. 

Cheriton himself appeared in the gray and green to which he had 
once been enthusiastically devoted, and which was now worn for 
the last time before he began his preparation lor the autumn ordina 
tion. In the meantime he could stay at Oakby, while Uplands was 
being made habitable, and could begin to feel his way among the 
Elderth waite people, while Virginia was still there to help him, for 
she and Alvar meant to be married quietly in the summer. 

But the happiest of all creatures on that bright morning, was per- 
haps Gipsy Stanfortli, as she sat with Nettie and Sir John and 
Lady Hubbard, while Jack was on horseback near at hand. The 
two young ladies excited much interest, for it was Miss Lester’s 
first appearance on leaving school, and people had begun to say that 
she was a great beauty, as she sat perfectly dressed and perfectly 
behaved, her handsome face with its pure coloring and fine outline 
as impassive 44 as if,” thought Dick Seyton, 44 she had never seen a 
hay-loft in her life.” 

Gipsy, on the other hand, could not help sparkling and beaming 
at every pleasant sight and sound. This was Jack’s world, and it 
was such a splendid one, and every one was so kind to her; for 
Nettie, though she secretly thought Gipsy rather too clever, knew 
how to behave to her brother’s betrothed. Gipsy could not keep 
her tongue still in her happy exultation, and very amusing were 
her remarks and comments, till, if the people came up to the car- 
riage to look at Miss Lester, they frequently remained to talk to 
Miss Stanfortli. 

Her father was in another carriage with the rest of the Hubbard 
party, enjoying the brilliant scene perhaps more than any one pres- 
ent, since no quaint incident, and no picturesque combination 
escaped his keen and kindly notice. 

44 Nettie looks like coming out sheep-farming in Australia in the 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 261 

swell get-up, doesn’t she?” said Bob to Jack, os they had drawn 
oil to a little distance together. 

“ She doesn’t look like it,” said Jack; “ but it she set her mind 
to that or anything else, she would do it.” 

“Oil,” said Bob, “ it’s all nonsense. 1 slia’n’t marry out there. 
1 shouldn’t like a colonial girl; but 1 shall come home in a few 
years’ time, and look about me. Nettie will be married beiore 
then, 1 hope, in a proper way. 1 hope you’ll ull be very careful 
about her acquaintances.” 

“ Well, we’ll try, ’ said Jack, smiling. “She will have Vir- 
ginia to go about with.” 

“ 1 like Virginia. She’ll do Alvar good,” said Bob, condescend- 
ingly. “ And 1 like Gipsy too, Jack; she’s very jolly.” 

“ Thank you,” said Jack; “ she is.” 

“ i suppose you’ll be a master in a school somewhere when 1 get 
back, and Cherry will be a paison. Well, he’ll make a very good 
one.” 

“Yes,” said Jack, shortly. He did not like discussions as to 
Cherry’s future; it hung, in his eyes, by too slender a thread. 

“ Good heavens!” cried Bob suddenly, “ look there!” 

Sir John Hubbard had left his carriage, and his young horses, 
which had been already excited by the numbers and the noise, 
frightened by some sudden chance movement among the crowd, no 
one could tell what — the bark of a dog, the sudden crossing of an 
old woman with a tray of ginger-beer — sliyed so violently that the 
coachman, who was holding the reins loosely, was thrown off the 
box, the horses dashed forward down the hill-side, toward an ab- 
rupt descent and break in the ground at the botttom of which ran a 
little stony brook. 

Jack and Boh were far behind, and even as they spurred forward 
they felt it would be all in vain; while Nettie, springing on to the 
front seat, tried to climb up an^ reach the reins; but they swung 
far beyond her reach. She looked on and saw all the danger, saw 
the rough descent ahead, heard the cries of horror on all sides, saw 
too, one of the yeomanry officers gallop at headlong speed toward 
them, dash in between them and the hank, and seize the reins. A 
violent jerk, as the horses were thrown back on their haunches, and 
she recognized Alvar, as he was flung off his own horse and down 
the bank by the shock and the struggle, as other hands forced the 
carriage back from its deadly peril, and Jack, dashing up, his face 
white as marble, dismounted and caught the trembling Gipsy in his 
arms. 

Nettie heeded none of them; she sprung out and down the bank, 
and in a moment was kneeling by Alvar’s side, who lay senseless. 
She had lifted his head and unfastened his collar, before her broth- 
ers were beside her. 

“ No, no; I’ll do it,” she cried, pushing Jack’s hand aside. 

“ Hush, Nettie, nonsense; let us lift him up. Get some water.” 

There were a few moments of exceeding terror, how few they 
never could believe, as they carried Alvar to smooth ground, and 
tried to revive him, before he opened his eyes, looked round, and 
after a minute or two, said faintly— 


262 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


“ What has happened? Ah-l remember.” trying to sit up. 
“ Are they safe?” 

“ \es — yes — but you? Oh, Alvar, are you killed?” cried Nettie. 

“ No, no,” said Alvar, “ my arm is hurt a little. I think it is 
sprained — it is DOthing. Do not let Cherry be frightened.” 

t* I never thought of him!” said Jack. “ Oh, he won’t know any- 
thing of it— he is not here. You are sure your arm is not broken?” 

“ No. Ah, there he is! Help me up, Jack! Cherry, it is noth- 
ing.” 

Cheriton, who had been considerately summoned with the news 
of a dreadful accident, but they hoped JVIr. Lester was not killed, 
was speechless with mingled terror and relief. He knelt down by 
Alvar’s side, and took his hand, hardly caring to ask a question as 
to how the accident had come about; but now Sir John Hubbard’s 
voice broke in — 

“ 1 never saw such a splendid thing in my life, never— the great 
est gallantry and presence of mind! A moment later and they 
would have been over! My dear fellow, I owe you more than 1 can 
say — Lady Hubbard, and your own sister, and Jack’s pretty little 
Gipsy — my horses starting off in that way. 1 can never thank you 
— never. I couldn’t have believed it. And I thought it was all 
over witn you!” 

“ 1 am not seriously hurt, sir,” said Alvar; sittingup, “ and there 
was nothing else to be done; it is not worth your thanks.” 

” Is not it?” cried Mr. Stanforth, unable to restrain himself. 
” More thanks than can be spoken.” 

“ I'll accept them all for him,” said Cheriton, looking up, his 
face full of triumph; while Nettie, hitherto steady, broke down, to 
her own disgust, into sobs. 

“ I’m not frightened— no!” she said, as Gipsy tried to soothe her. 
“ But I thought he wasn’t worth anything — and he is!” 

“ Come,” said Sir John, ” we must not have any more heroics, 
and the hero must go home and rest — to Ashrigg, 1 mean. And 
you too, Cherry, go and look after him; here’s your grandmother’s 
carriage, while 1 see if my horses are fit to be trusted with the 
ladies.” 

Alvar was still dizzy and shaken, though he said that the hurt to 
his arm was a trifle, and now stood up and inquired after his horse, 
which had been caught by a bystander, and was unhurt. Sir 
John’s coachman had also escaped with some severe bruises; and 
there was a general move. Jack, seeing Gipsy with her father, fol- 
lowed his brothers, anxious about them both, and overflowing with 
gratitude toward Alvar for his darling’s safety. 

But as they turned to drive away they were obliged to cross the 
ground, and there rose from all sides such a thundering shout as 
threatened a repetition of the former danger; yeomanry, volunteers, 
and spectators, all joining in such an outburst of enthusiasm as had 
never echoed over Ashrigg Moors before. Their driver pulled up 
in the center of the field with the obvious information— 

“ They’re cheering, sir; it’s for you.” 

Alvar stood up, with his hand on Jack’s shoulder, and bowed with 
a grace and self-possession from which his pale face and hastily ex- 
temporized sling did not detract, and which his brothers— agitated, 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


26 3 


and ashamed of their agitation, were far from rivaling, as Jack de- 
sired the driver to ‘‘get on quick,” and Cheriton bent down his 
head, quivering in every nerve under the wondertul influence of 
that unanimous shout. 

Some hours later, as Alvar lay on a sofa at Ashrigg, resting in 
preparation for the public dinner at Hazelby, for which every one 
had declared he must be well enough, the doctor included, he looked 
at Cherry, who sat near him, and said, witli a smile, — 

“ Cherito mio, 1 think they would all have grieved for me — the 
twins and all— if 1 had been killed. They would have been sorry 
for me— now.” 

“ Don’t— don’t talk of it. Of course they would,” said Cherry, 
with a shudder. 

“ Ah! J fear you will dream of it, as you used of the mountain 
at Ronda. It will hurt you more than it has hurt me.” 

“No,” said Cherry; “but if we had lost you! We can hardly 
believe yet that we have you safe.” 

“But,” said Alvar with unusual persistency, “ then you would 
have been the squire, after all. Ah! 1 am cruel to huit you; but, 
Cheriton, once they would not have grieved.” 

Cheriton could not command an answer, and Alvar quitted the 
subject; but the unmistakable affection showed to him at last by his 
brothers and sister healed the old wounds as nothing else would have 
done. 

No one would own that the fright and agitation demanded a quiet 
evening, and the ladies all repaired to Hazelby, to sit in the gallery 
at the Town-hall to hear the speeches, Mrs. Lester, who had happily 
not been present in the morning, accompanying them; and Jack, 
going to fetch Virginia, and after overwhelming her with the story 
ot the alarm, assuring her that she must come and hear Alvar’s 
health drunk. Sir John Hubbard intended it should be done. 

And so, when the usual toasts were over, old Sir Jolm rose, and, 
full of compunction for past prejudices, and of gratitude for what 
Alvar bad done for him, said that this was really the first public 
occasion they had had of welcoming Mr. Lester among them; 
spoke of his father’s merits, of the difficulty a stranger might have 
in accommodating himself to their north-country fashions; touched 
lightly and gracefully on the reasons of Alvar’s recent absence, and 
their pleasure in welcoming back again “ one long known and 
loved,” and how much was owing to the elder brother’s care; 
hinted how Aivar had won “ one of the best of their county prizes;” 
and then, out of the fullness ot his heart, thanked him for his heroic 
behavior in saving the life of Lady Hubbard, and himself from an 
irreparable loss, and, moreover, a frightful sense of responsibility. 

Then Alvar’s health was drunk with all the honors, and it was 
long before the enthusiasm subsided sufficiently to allow him to 
reply. 

He stood up, in his usual height and dignity, and said, slowly and 
simply, “ 1 thank you much, gentlemen. Sir John Hubbard need 
not thank me for rescuing my sister, and the betrothed ot my 
brother. 1 was at hand and of the danger 1 did not think.” (“ No, 
no; of course not,” cried a voice.) “ 1 have been a stranger, but 1 
have no other country but England now, and it is my wish to be 


264 


AST -ENGLISH SQUIRE. 


your friend and your neighbor, as my father was. I will endeavor 
to till his place to my tenants; but lam ignorant, and hare little 
skill. I think it is not perhaps permitted to me to name the one 
who will most help me in future, one of whom 1 am all unworthy. 
But there is another, who has always given me love, whom 1 love 
most dearly, as 1 think you do also. My brother Cheriton has 
tajglit me how to be an English squire.’ ’ 

And among all those who cheered Alvar’s speech, the voice that 
was raided the loudest was Edward Fleming’s. 

The next morning Cheriton went alone along the path from Oak- 
by to Eldertliwaite. His great wish was granted; his father’s piace 
would be worthily filled. Alvar would never be a nobody in the 
county again, would never seem again out of place as 'their head. 
All old sores were healing, all were turning out well-how much 
better than he could ever have hoped! 

Even lor hopeless Eldertkwaite things looked hopeful ; and Cheri- 
ton’s quick and kindly thoughts turned to his share in the work of 
mending them. “If I may,” he thought; “but it not, 1 think I 
shall never tear for any one or any place again.” 

Too much, perhaps, for the impetuous spirit to promise for itself; 
but come what might, those who loved Clierilon Lester had little 
cause to fear for the real welfare of one who loved them so well and 
looked upward so steadily. 


EPILOGUE. 

“ Mr. Ellesmere! 1 saw your name in the visitors’ book. So 
you are taking a holiday in Switzerland?” 

“ Mr. Stanforth! Very glad to meet you. You will put us up to 
all we ought to see and admire. Are you alone?” 

“ Yes; you know I have lost my traveling companion. My next 
girl is still in the school-room, and 1 think will never be so advent- 
urous as Gipsy.” 

“ You have good accounts, I hope, of Mrs. Jack, as we irrevently 
call her.” 

“ Excellent: she adores the boys, and the boys adore her; her 
letters are very educational and aesthetic. She has picked up 
more ‘ art * as a school-master’s wife than ever she learned as an artist’s 
daughter, and could, doubtless, set me right on tones and colors.” 

“ Cherry told me that Jack had taken to the new culture.” 

“ Yes, he was much amused at the development produced by 
house-furnishing. But double firsts have a right to vagaries. But 
tell me something of the Oakby world. It is a very long time since 
1 have been there, and one does not see much of people at a wed- 
ding, though 1 thought Cheriton looking very well.” 

“ Yes,- he is fairly well, very useful, and, I think, quite content. 
Alvar has settled into his position, and fills it well. He is indig- 
nant if he is supposed to be ignorant of anything English; and his 
sweet graceful wife guides him as much as ‘ Fanny ’ did his father 
thirty years ago. His one trouble is that little Gerald is as dark ae 
all his Spanish ancestors, and even Frances is like the Seytons, b’fi 
that he can forgive.” 


an English squire. 265 

'* Docs she promise to rival her aunt? What a beautiful creature 
Miss Lester is!” 

“ Splendid! and still Miss Lester, which is rather a trouble. to her 
grandmother. Whether she will ever be Lady Milford — or whether — 
Any way, Nettie can keep her own counsel.” 

“ Ami now, tell me about Elderth waite. Has Cheriton justified 
his experiment?” 

“ Yes, 1 think I may say that he has. He lias done a great deal. 
No one else could have done so much good, and certainly no one 
would have done so little harm.” 

“ And the old parson is resigned to improvements?” 

“ Yes, but there have been fewer external changes than you would 
expect, or than Cherry would wish if lie were his own master, or 
even if he could depend on himself. But or course his health has 
weighted him heavily, and he can not promise perfect regularity in 
services or arrangements.” 

“ 1 wonder he can manage at all.” 

“ Well, 1 think on the whole his health has improved, and he is 
well enough off to contrive things — has a horse and wagonette for 
bad weather; and his house is near the church, and he lias built on 
a grea,'. room to it, and fitted it up with books and games, and he 
makes a sort of club of it for the boys and young men. His sitting- 
room opens into it, and he has classes and talks, and eels them to 
come and see him one by one. If he can not do one thing, he does 
another. And they have evening services in the summer, and early 
ones when it is possible. I think the sort of resolute way in which 
Cheriton lias recognized the need of special care of himself, if he is 
to be useful, and carries it out, is one of the most remarkable things 
about him. Many young men might have killed themselves with 
hard work, and many would forget the danger when well and in 
good spirits, but he -has recognized the limitations set to him, and 
bows to them.” 

“ Y'es, and he does not offend his vicar.” 

“ Rarely; he has never failed to recognize his right to respect— 
never allowed the Wilsons, who are ardent and enthusiastic, to force 
anything on him. And there’s a great change. I don’t mean that 
the old fellow is cut after any modern pattern yet; but he is consid- 
erably more decorous, and sometimes there’s a sort of humility about 
him in admitting his shortcomings that is very touching. Cherry 
is the very light of his eyes.” 

“ And how does Cherry hit it off with the modern element?” 

“ Well, there 1 think his position has been a great advantage to 
him; they are a little afraid of him. But he gets on admirably with 
them, and y^u know they have improved the church immensely 
this last year, and what is more to the point, perhaps, it is filled 
with good congregations.” 

“ Is Cheriton a fine preacher?” 

“ Well, his people like him. 1 have rarely beard him; he is very 
difficult to get. Yes, 1 like his sermons; but he has not much voice, 
you see, and his manner is very quiet. He has not the sort of vehe- 
ment eloquence you might have expected. I made some comment 
once to him, and he looked at me, and said, ‘ 1 daren’t get eager 


266 


AN ENGLISH SQUIRE. 

and tire myself. ’ 1 saw then how little strength he had to work 

with.” 

“ Poor fellow!" But this life— does it satisfy him? Is he happy 
in it?” 

“ He is just as merry and full of fun as ever. He has a wonder- 
ful capacity for taking an interest in every one and everything; and 
though Alvar does not depend on him in the old exclusive way. he 
is most tender and careful of him, and Cherry delights in the chil- 
dren. I think Jack’s marriage was rather a wrench; those two do 
cling together so closely, and Jack was a great deal with him; but 
still there are grand plans for the holidays, and he is veiy fond of 
your daughter.” 

“ I don’t think that marriage will loosen the tie.” 

‘‘No; and he is much too unselfish really to regret it. Then all 
his village boys bring him pets; he says every thing makes a link 
from a horse to a hedgehog. And my curates and the Ashrigg ones 
run after him, and think it a privilege to take a service for him; and 
he has done one rather feather pated fellow, 1 know, a woild of good. ” 

“ That 1 can believe.” 

“ Yes; for, after all, Mi. Stantorth, it is not his being a Lester of 
Oakby, nor a man of means, nor his wonderful tact, nor even his 
great charm of manner in itself, that counterbalances his weak health 
and frequent absences, or makes a life spent among rather uncon- 
genial elements sufficient to him. It is that he has the root of the 
matter in him as very few have. What he does and says may be 
less in quantity, but it is infinitely above in quality the ordinary work 
of his profession. He looks deep and he looks high, and men feel 
it. He has come through much tribulation, and — well, Mr. Stan- 
forth, the dragon-slayers have their reward.” 

“Yes, one must touch a high note in thinking of him.” 

“ So hisrh, that one fears * to mar by earthly praise ’ one who 1 
verily believe is as true a saint, as full of love and zeal. Well, being 
so, as 1 truly think, he has what some holy souls have lacked, the 
gift of a gracious manner and a most sympathetic nature; and if a 
few more years and a little more experience could be granted to 
him, 1 believe he will have a great spiritual influence— it not wide, 
deep. Any way he will leave in one place the memory of a pure 
and holy life, and will lead others to follow the Master he loves so 
well.” 


THE END. 


ADVERTISEMENTS. 


THE BEST 

Wasliii 

EVER INVENTED. 

Wo Lady, Married or Sin- 
gle, Rich or Poor, House- 
keeping or Boarding, will 
be without it after testing 
its utility. 

Sold by all first-class 
Grocers, but beware of 
worthless imitations. 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 

The Seaside Library 

POCKET EIDITICOST- 


270 The Wandering Jew. By Eugene Sue. Parts I. and 

II., each 20 

270 Little Goldie. By Mrs. Sumner Hayden 20 

284 Boris. By “The Duciiess” 10 

286 Beldee; or, The Iron Hand. By F. Warden 20 

330 May Blossom ; or, Between Two Loves. By Mar- 
garet Lee 20 

345 Madam. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

350 The Water-Witch. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

362 The Bride of Lammermoor. By Sir Walter Scott. . 20 


For sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, post- 
age free, on receipt of 12 cents for single numbers, and 25 cents for 
double numbers, by the publisher. Parties ordering by mail will 
please order by numbers. 

GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vandewater Street. 




WHAT IS SAPOLIO? 


It is a solid, 
handsome cake 
of scouring soap, 
which has no 

equal for all cleaning purposes except the laundry. To use it is to value it. 

What will Sapolio do? Why ; it will clean paint, make oil-cloths bright, and 
give the floors, tables and shelves a new appearance. 

It will take the grease off the dishes and off the pots and pans. 

You can scour the knives and forks with it, and make the tin thiDgs shine 
brightly. The wash-basin, the bath-tub. even the greasy kitcher sink, will be 
as clean as a new pin if you use SAPOLIO. One cake will prove all we 
say. Be a clever little housekeeper and try it. 

BEWARE OF IMITATIONS,, 


MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY 


ORDINARY EDITION. 


GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 
(P.O.Box 8751.) 17 to 27 Vandewater Street, N. Y. 


The following works contained in The Seaside Library, Ordinary Edition, 
are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage free, on 
receipt of 12 cents for single numbers, and 25 cents for double numbers, by the 
publisher. Parties ordering by mail will please order by numbers. 


MRS. ALEXANDER’S WORKS. 

30 Her Dearest Foe 20 

36 The Wooing O’t 20 

46 The Heritage of Langdale 20 

370 Ralph Wilton’s Weird 10 

400 Which Shall it Be? 20 

532 Maid, W~ife, or Widow 10 

1231 The Freres 20 

1259 Valerie’s Fate 10 

1391 Look Before You Leap 20 

1502 The Australian Aunt 10 

1595 The Admiral’s Ward 20 

1721 The Executor 20 

1934 Mrs. Vereker’s Courier Maid 10 

WILLIAM BLACK’S WORKS. 

13 A Princess of Thule 20 

28 A Daughter of Heth * 10 

47 In Silk Attire 10 

48 The Strange Adventures of a Phaeton 10 

51 Kilmeny 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.— Ordinary Edition. 


53 The Monarch of Mincing Lane 10 

79 Madcap Violet (small type) 10 

604 Madcap Violet (large type) 20 

242 The Three Feathers 10 

390 The Marriage of Moira Fergus, and The Maid of Killeena. 10 

417 Macleod of Dare 20 

451 Lady Silverdale’s Sweetheart 10 

568 Green Pastures and Piccadilly 10 

816 White Wings: A Yachting Romance 10 

826 Oliver Goldsmith * 10 

950 Sunrise: A Story of These Times 20 

1025 The Pupil of Aurelius 10 

1032 That Beautiful Wretch 10 

1161 The Four MacNicols. 10 

1264 Mr. Pisistratus Brown, M.P., in the Highlands 10 

1429 An Adventure in Thule. A Story for Young People 10 

1556 Shandon Bells 20 

1683 Yolande 20 

1893 Judith Shakespeare: Her Love Affairs and other Advent- 
ures 20 

MISS M. E. BRANDON'S WORKS. 

26 Aurora Floyd 20 

69 To the Bitter End 20 

89 The Lovels of Arden 20 

95 Dead Men’s Shoes 20 

109 Eleanor’s Victory 20 

114 Darrell Markham 10 

140 The Lady Lisle 10 

171 Hostages to Fortune. 20 

190 Henry Dunbar 20 

215 Birds of Prey 20 

235 An Open Verdict 20 

251 Lady Audley’s Secret 20 

254 The Octoroon 10 

260 Charlotte’s Inheritance 20 

287 Leighton Grange 10 

295 Lost for Love 20 

822 Dead-Sea Fruit 20 

459 The Doctor’s Wife 20 

469 Rupert Godwin 20 

C 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Ordinary Edition. 


481 Vixen 20 

482 The Cloven Foot 20 

500 Joshua Haggard’s Daughter 20 

519 Weavers and Weft 10 

525 Sir Jasper’s Tenant 20 

539 A Strange World 20 

550 Fenton’s Quest 20 

562 John Marchmont’s Legacy 20 

572 The Lady’s Mile 20 

579 Strangers and Pilgrims 20 

581 Only a Woman (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

619 Taken at the Flood 20 

641 Only a Clod 20 

649 Publicans and Sinners 20 

656 George Caulfield’s Journey 10 

665 The Shadow in the Corner 10 

666 Bound to John Company; or, Robert Ainsleigh 20 

701 Barbara ; or. Splendid Misery 20 

705 Put to the Test (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part 1 20 

734 Diavola; or, Nobody’s Daughter. Part II 20 

811 Dudley Carleon 10 

828 The Fatal Marriage 10 

837 Just as I Am; or, A Living Lie 20 

942 Asphodel 20 

1154 The Mistletoe Bough 20 

1265 Mount Royal 20 

1469 Flower and Weed 10 

1553 The Golden -Calf 20 

1638 A Hasty Marriage (Edited by Miss M. E. Braddon) 20 

1715 Phantom Fortune 20 

1736 Under the Red Flag 10 

1877 An Ishmaelite 20 

1915 The Mistletoe Bough. Christmas, 1884 (Edited by Miss 

M. E. Braddon) 20 

CHARLOTTE, EMILY, AND ANNE BRONTE’S WORKS. 

3 Jane Eyre (in small type) 10 

396 Jane Eyre (in bold, handsome type) 20 

162 Shirley 20 

311 The Professor. 10 


TEE SEASIDE LIBRARY. — Ordinary Edition. 


829 Wuthering Heights 10 

438 Villette 20 

967 The Tenant of Wildfell Hall „ 20 

1098 Agnes Grey 20 

LUCY RANDALL COMFORT’S WORKS. 

495 Claire’s Love-Life 10 

552 Love at Saratoga 20 

672 Eve, The Factory Girl 20 

716 Black Bell 20 

854 Corisande. . 20 

907 Three Sewing Girls. 20 

1019 His First Love 20 

1133 Nina; or, The Mystery of Love 20 

1192 Vendetta; or, The Southern Heiress . 20 

1254 Wild and Wilful 20 

1533 Elfrida; or, A Young Girl’s Love-Story 20 

1709 Love and Jealousy (illustrated) 20 

1810 Married for Money (illustrated) 20 

1829 Only Mattie Garland 20 

1830 Lottie and Victorine ; or, Working their Own Way 20 

1834 Jewel, the Heiress. A Girl’s Love Story 20 

1861 Love at Long Branch; or, Inez Merivale’s Fortunes 20 

WILKIE COLLINS’ WORKS. 

10 The Woman in White 20 

14 The Dead Secret 20 

22 Man and Wife 20 

32 The Queen of Hearts 20 

38 Antonina 20 

42 Hide-and-Seek * 20 

76 The New Magdalen 10 

94 The Law and The Lady 20 

180 Armadale 20 

191 My Lady’s Money 10 

225 The Two Destinies 10 

250 No Name 20 

286 After Dark 10 

409 The Haunted Hotel 10 

433 A Shocking Story 10 

487 A Rogue’s Life 10 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.-— Ordinary Edition . 


551 The Yellow Mask 10 

583 Fallen Leaves. 20 

654 Poor Miss Finch 20 

675 The Moonstone 20 

696 Jezebel’s Daughter 20 

713 The Captain’s Last Love 10 

721 Basil 20 

745 The Magic Spectacles 10 

905 Duel in Herne Wood 10 

928 Who Killed Zebedee? 10 

971 The Frozen Deep 10 

990 The Black Robe 20 

1164 Your Money or Your Life 10 

1544 Heart and Science. A Story of the Present Time 20 

1770 Love’s Random Shot 10 

1856 "I Say No” 20 

J. FENIMORE COOPER’S WORKS. 

222 Last of the Mohicans 20 

224 The Deerslayer 20 

226 The Pathfinder 20 

229 The Pioneers 20 

231 The Prairie 20 

233 The Pilot 20 

585 The Water-Witch 20 

590 The Two Admirals 20 

615 The Red Rover 20 

761 Wing-and-Wing 20 

940 The Spy 20 

1066 The Wyandotte 20 

1257 Afloat and Ashore 20 

1262 Miles Wallingford (Sequel to “Afloat and Ashore”) 20 

1569 The Headsman; or, The Abbaye des Yignerons 20 

1605 The Monikins 20 

1661 The Heidenmauer; or, The Benedictines. A Legend of 

the Rhine 20 

1691 The Crater; or, Vulcan’s Peak. A Tale of the Pacific 20 

CHARLES DICKENS’ WORKS. 

20 The Old Curiosity Shop 20 

100 A Tale of Two Cities 20 

102 Hard Times 10 




MUNRO’S PUBLICATIONS. 


THE SEASIDE LIBRARY-POCKET EDITION. 


LATEST ISSUES: 


389 

390 


Homeward Bound; or, The Chase. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

Home as Found. (Sequel to “ Home- 
ward Bound.”) By J. Fenimore 

Cooper 20 

Wyandotte; or. The Hutted Knoll. 

By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

The Red Cardinal. By Frances Elliot 10 
Three Sisters; or, Sketches of a 
Highly Original Family. By Elsa 

D'Esterre-Keeling 10 

Introduced to Society. By Hamilton 

Aide 10 

On Horseback Through Asia Minor. 

By Capt. Fred Burnaby 20 

The Headsman ; or, The Abbaye des 
Vignerons. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 
Led Astray ; or, “ La Petite Col tesse.” 

By Octave Feuillet 10 

The Secret of the Cliffs. By Charu *te 

French 20 

Addie’s Husband ; or, Through Clouds 
to Sunshine. By the author of 

“ Love or Lands?” 10 

Ichabod. By Bertha Thomas 10 

Mildred Trevanion. ” The Duchess ” 10 


391 The Heart of Mid-Lothian. By Sir 

Walter Scott 20 

392 Peveril of the Peak. Sir Walter Scott 20 

393 The Pirate. Sir Walter Scott 20 

394 The Bravo. By J. Fenimore Cooper. 20 

395 The Archipelago on Fire. By Jules 

Verne 10 

396 Robert Ord’s Atonement. By Rosa 

Nouchette Carey 20 

397 Lionel Lincoln; or, The Leaguer of 

of Boston. By J. Fenimore Cooper 20 

398 Matt: A Tale of a Caravan. By Rob- 

ert Buchanan 10 

399 Miss Brown. By Vernon Lee. .... . . 20 

400 The Wept of Wish-Ton-Wish. By J. 

Fenimore Cooper 20 

401 Waverley. By Sir Walter Scott 20 

402 Lilliesleaf ; or, Passages in the Life of 

Mrs. Margaret Maitland of Sunny- 
side. By Mrs. Oliphant 20 

403 An English Squire. C. R. Coleridge . 20 


The above books are for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, postage pre- 
paid, by the publisher, on receipt of 12 cents for single numbers, 17 cents for special numbers, and 
25 cents for double numbers. Parties wishing the Pocket Edition of The Seaside Library must be 
careful to mention the Pocket Edition, otherwise the Ordinary Edition will be sent. Address, 

GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vnnde water Street, New York. 


MUNRO’S PERIODICALS. 


THE NEW YORK MONTHLY FASHION BAZAR 

Price 25 Cents per Copy. By Subscription, $2.50 per year. 

THE NEW YORK MONTHLY FASHION BAZAR is for sale by all newsdealers, or 
will be sent, postage prepaid, for 25 cents per single copy. 

GEORGE MUNRO, Publisher, 

P. O. Box 3751. 17 to 27 Vamlewater Street, New York. 


THE CELEBRATED 


GRAND, SQUAEE AND UPEIGHT PIANOS. 

FIRST PRIZE 

DIPLOMA. 

Centennial Exhibi- 
tion, 1876; Montreal, 

1881 and 1882. 

The enviable po- 
sition Sohmer & 

Co. hold among 
American Piano 
Manufacturers is 
solely due to the 
merits of their in- 
struments. 

ARE AT PRESENT THE MOST POPULAR 

AND PREFERRED BY THE LEADING ARTISTS. 

SOHMER & CO., Manufacturers, No. 149 to 155 E. 14th Street, N. Y. 


The New York Fireside Companion. 


THE MOST POPULAK PAPER IN THE UNION. 

\ 


IT CONTAINS 

Incomparably the Best Continued Stories, 

ZDetecti^re Stories Toy “Old. Sleixtli,” 

AND 

The Richest Variety of Sketches and Literary Miscellany. 


TERMS:— The New York Fireside Companion will be sent for one year, on reeeipt. 
of $8: two copies for $5. Getters-up of clubs can afterward add sinerle cmv^s at $2.50 
each. We will be responsible for remittances sent in Registered Letters or by Post- 
office Money Orders. Postage free . Specimen copies sent free. 

GEORGE MTTNRO, Publisher, 

P. O. Box 3?al. 17 to ‘27 Vandewater Street, New York. 



They are used 
in Conservato- 
ries, Schools and 
Seminaries, on ac- 
count of their su- 
perior tone and 
unequaled dura- 
bility. 

The SOHMER 
Piano is a special 
favorite with the 
leading musicians 
and critics. 






































mi 




''v 

•A1 



1 A; |P 

f|m| 



1 xfmiAw W' 




■ IB 1 



li'41Fa,l 





library of congress 



00022525552 




